


No Choice At All

by anonymousdaredevils



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bondage, Community: daredevilkink, Dark!Matt, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Forced Prostitution, Foursome - F/M/M/M, I'm Going to Hell, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Oh God do I have to list everything that I put in here?, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Rape, Sex Toys, Sexual Slavery, Stockholm Syndrome, Threesome - M/M/M, none of this is consensual or romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 03:06:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8873407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymousdaredevils/pseuds/anonymousdaredevils
Summary: When Foggy Nelson tried to blow the whistle on some suspect dealings between Landman & Zack and Confederated Global Investments, he found himself trapped and subject to the whims of Wilson Fisk and James Wesley.  But Foggy was determined to survive, and Fisk's blind assassin could be the answer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the kink meme prompt: http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/8423.html?thread=16430311#cmt16430311
> 
> "Wilson Fisk is the Kingpin and Daredevil is his assassin/bodyguard. Frank Castle is the guy Fisk calls in when he wants to make a bloody statement against whatever group has crossed him. Foggy was the public defender that got Fisk acquitted the first time around and now Fisk will never let him go.
> 
> "Sometimes, when Matt or Frank do a particularly good job, he lends them his pet lawyer. After all, the guy’s got a mouth on him, might as well put it to good use outside the courtroom."
> 
> Some of the details have changed, but the spirit of the prompt remains.

Foggy should have kept his mouth shut.

Instead, he opened it, told Bonnie, his supervisor, and now Bonnie was dead and he was trapped in his broom closet of an office with two terrifying men standing over him.

It started a few weeks ago, when Bonnie had put him on the Confederated Global account. It was a huge account, millions of dollars flowing in and out, and Landman & Zack had a whole team of lawyers looking after it. Foggy had just been supposed to consolidate some data for a presentation, but he’d kept looking at the numbers, and it had just looked wrong. So he’d kept looking, started pulling in other files, until he was sure that Confed Global was up to something shady.

He’d brought it to Bonnie, who was a good person, who grumbled whenever they skimmed too close to the ethical line, and she’d agreed. She’d said she’d take it to the senior partners.

That had been last night.

When he’d come in this morning, there were two men in his office. One lounging in his office chair, all neat, precise edges, the other standing behind him. Under other circumstances, Foggy would have stared at the standing man, probably would have stumbled over his words or said something stupid about how handsome he was, or something awful about the obvious fact that said handsome man was blind.

Under other circumstances, the blind man would have captured all of Foggy’s attention. But the man sitting behind Foggy’s desk as if he owned the place was looking at him, scrutinizing him, taking him apart to see what made him tick.

He apparently liked what he saw, because he gave a smile, all ice and hardness.

“Mr Nelson, please have a seat,” he said, standing up.

“Can I help you?” Foggy managed.

“Please, sit down.”

Foggy sat. The man perched on the side of his desk, and Foggy realized that he had placed himself between these two men, and he had no idea what they wanted from him.

“I’m afraid I’m the bearer of bad news,” the sharp man said. “Ms Tsing was found dead in her apartment this morning. Apparently, she had a very serious nut allergy. Anaphylaxis is a terrible thing, especially when one is…irresponsible with one’s Epipen.”

Bonnie had kept her Epipen in her purse. When she and Foggy had gone out for lunch on Foggy’s first day at L&Z, she’d told him, just in case.

“What is more shocking is the file that was found near her body.” The man tapped a manila folder that was sitting on Foggy’s desk. “Go ahead.”

When Foggy opened it and realized the contents, the print seemed to swim in front of his eyes.

“Mr Landman and Mr Zack will be deeply…disturbed, I think, to discover that one of their interns has been stealing from their client,” the man continued. “Although I believe the police will most likely be even more interested.”

“This - this isn’t true,” Foggy stammered.

“The truth, Mr Nelson, is not what is under discussion.” The man plucked the file out of Foggy’s shaking hand. “This is enough to have you disbarred, arrested and convicted.” He smiled, all teeth. “Oh, and as a sidebar - Matthew?”

Foggy glanced over his shoulder to see the blind man - Matthew - taking his phone away from his ear.

“It’s done,” Matthew said.

“Thank you. As a sidebar, Confederated Global Investments just purchased the entire block on 39th, between 9th and 10th. We’re thinking of building some condos.” His gaze was icy as Foggy put together the implication. His parents lived in that block, above their hardware store.

“What do you want from me?” Foggy said.

The man chuckled, sending a shiver down Foggy’s spine. “I’ll admit, we were impressed by how quickly you managed to put a case together. Our financial expert was quite…irritated.” Behind him, Matthew snorted. “Now, Ms Tsing was…a disappointment. She should have noticed you were poking your nose where you shouldn’t, we should have been aware of your activities a long time ago. But, it’s all for the best, or so I’m told. You’ve managed to demonstrate your…unique skills. So, Mr Nelson, you should be glad. My employer has decided that you are worth…collecting.” He reached into his jacket and placed a card on Foggy’s desk. “You no longer work for Landman & Zack, by mutual agreement. Tomorrow, nine AM, you’ll start work at Confed Global. Address is on the card.” He stood, buttoning his jacket. “I’m sure you’ll find it…fulfilling work. Matthew.”

He swept out, leaving the false, incriminating file on the desk. Which meant that there were copies.

As Matthew turned to close the door, he flashed Foggy a grin. Foggy was pretty sure that wolves grinned like that at their prey.

When the door closed, Foggy lunged across at the shelves where he’d put the Confed Global files. They were gone. Bonnie had had the only other copy.

And Bonnie was dead, and Confed Global was threatening to have him arrested and to evict his parents if he didn’t work for them.

He didn’t have a choice. No choice at all.

At nine AM, he presented himself at the Confed Global offices. The receptionist frowned at him when he didn’t even know the name of the person he was supposed to meet, until he heard a voice behind him.

“He’s supposed to see Mr Fisk.” Foggy turned to see Matthew, still handsome, still terrifying. “I’ll take him in.” The receptionist shrugged, and Foggy followed Matthew. His frantic mind, desperate to focus on something, noticed that even with his cane, the blind man moved like a predator, practically slinking along the hall, coiled and powerful.

At the end of the hall were a pair of double doors. A tall broad man stood before them, looking as solid and immovable as a granite slab. But he grinned when he saw Matthew, and opened the door.

“Red,” he said as Matthew passed him. Matthew slid a hand over the man’s arm.

“Hey, Frank,” he said, and he grinned, the kind of grin that would have taken Foggy’s breath away if it were directed at him.

But Matthew was already disappearing into the office beyond, and Foggy had to hurry to keep up with him.

The office was huge, one wall completely made of glass, showing New York in all its glory. The furnishings were minimalist, with a Japanese influence in the warm-colored wood and the carefully shaped plants. There was a fountain, trickling gently down one wall. And behind the desk was the man himself, whose name Foggy had only heard this morning.

Mr Fisk was huge, would probably dwarf even the powerfully-built Frank outside the door. He certainly overshadowed the man from Foggy’s office, standing at his side.

“Ah, Mr Nelson, you made it. Thank you, Matthew,” said Fisk’s…aide? Assistant?

“Mr Wesley,” Matthew said, a note of insouciance in his voice as he turned on his heel and left the room. The door closed with a click the volume of thunder.

They didn’t invite him to sit.

Fisk’s evaluation of him was brisk, as if Foggy was of little concern to him. He passed a glance over Foggy, then turned to Wesley.

“I’m sure Mr Donovan will appreciate the extra hands,” Fisk said. He nodded, and Wesley nodded back, then Foggy was being led out the door. “This is the one…with the big mouth?” Fisk said as Wesley reached for the door.

“Yes, sir,” Wesley said.

“Find a use for it.”

The smile that curled around Wesley’s lips may have been the most terrifying thing in a terrifying few days. There was cruelty there, and pleasure, too.

“Of course.”

Foggy found himself pushed out the door. Outside, Matthew was lounging against the wall, while Frank stood at his post. Matthew grinned.

“Is there something wrong with your office?” Wesley snapped.

“Just thought I’d head down with you,” Matthew said, peeling himself off the wall. “He’s coming to legal, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

In a few sentences, Foggy thought he had it all worked out: Wesley didn’t like Matthew, and Matthew enjoyed riling Wesley up. That was something to work with. Matthew turned and led the way down the hall, and Foggy noticed that the back of his hair was standing up. As if someone had run their fingers through it.

In the elevator, Wesley spoke, almost apropos of nothing.

“Mr Fisk is very pleased with how this has turned out,” he said. Matthew shrugged, exuding nonchalance. “He wanted me to communicate his appreciation for your…initiative.”

“Generous of him.”

“I think you’ll enjoy it.”

Standing behind them, his hands twisting the strap of his bag, Foggy had no idea what they were talking about, and dreaded ever finding out.

Confed Global’s legal offices turned out to be three offices and a conference table at the end of a hall. The name tags outside the offices proclaimed the corner one to be Ben Donovan’s, the one next to it Matt Murdock’s, and the third was empty. Ben Donovan was an older African-American man, natty in a pinstripe suit, who smiled strangely when Wesley introduced them. Then Wesley casually turned to Matthew and said, “Why don’t you come in so we can give our Mr Nelson his first assignment?”

Wesley closed the door to Foggy’s new office, and nodded at one of the chairs in front of the desk. Not the desk chair.

“Now, Mr Nelson, I believe our meeting yesterday left an…impression with you,” he said, settling into the desk chair himself. Matthew sat in the chair next to Foggy, stretching his legs out. “Mr Fisk would like to make our relationship perfectly clear.”

“You mean that you’ve threatened me into working here?” Foggy said, surprising himself. “You mean that relationship?”

“I think you’ve failed to grasp the depth of what we can do to you, Mr Nelson.” Wesley leaned forward. “We own you, Franklin Percy Nelson. You tried to…I suppose, blow the whistle on a tiny part of our operation. Believe me when I say that your evidence would have barely made a dent in our resources. But it would have been an annoyance. And we eliminate annoyances. You can thank Matthew here that you are sitting in this office instead of sharing Ms Tsing’s…unfortunate fate. In fact, right now, you’re going to show Matthew the depth of your gratitude.” Foggy looked between Wesley and Matthew, between the icy cruelty and the catlike grin. Wesley sighed. “He’s not quick on the uptake, is he? Are you sure about him?”

“I’m sure,” Matthew said.

“Mr Nelson,” said Wesley sharply, dragging Foggy’s gaze back to him. “Perhaps I need to make this clearer. Get on your knees and thank Matthew for his efforts on your behalf.”

The penny dropped, and Foggy felt sick.

“No, no,” he stammered.

Wesley shrugged. “Then the file goes to the police. And your parents are evicted.”

“You can’t do this.”

“Yes, we can, Mr Nelson.” Wesley glanced at his watch. “Ten seconds, or I’ll make the call.”

Foggy looked at Matthew, but there was no mercy there, just a mildly amused grin on a handsome face.

“Five,” said Wesley, implacable.

Foggy was shaking as he slid to his knees. Matthew was only a few inches away, but stretching out his hand felt like reaching across an abyss. He swallowed against his dry mouth when he touched Matthew’s belt buckle, then fumbled it open. Matthew’s hand drifted up, almost gentle on his hair, as he unzipped Matthew’s fly.

Under other circumstances, he would have thought Matthew out of his league, would only have dreamed of seeing his cock, being able to touch it. But here, and now, he wondered frantically how he was going to keep from throwing up.

He slid his hand into Matthew’s pants, finding his cock, pulling it out. Matthew put a little pressure on his head, guiding him down, and he closed his eyes tight before his lips met Matthew’s cock. He could feel the tears sliding down as he took Matthew in, shaking too hard to be careful about his teeth. Matthew hissed and tightened his hand on Foggy’s hair, and Foggy tried again, wrapping his lips around his teeth, trying to breathe deep through his nose, trying not to feel Wesley’s eyes on him, trying to imagine being anywhere but here. Matthew’s hand relaxed, and as Foggy pumped his mouth on his cock, he realized that Matthew was stroking his hair.

Matthew came with a short moan, flooding into Foggy’s mouth, and Foggy swallowed, too afraid to do anything else.

“Excellent,” Wesley said as Foggy pulled off and Matthew tucked himself back into his pants. “I’m sure you’ll make a fine addition to our team.”

“I’m sure he will,” Matthew said with a smirk. He brushed his hand over Foggy’s hair one more time, before standing and going out with Wesley, leaving Foggy on his knees in the middle of his office.


	2. Chapter 2

After spending the first few days torn between crying and throwing up, Foggy decided that he had to do _something_. He’d always been smart, so he decided to crawl up out of his misery and humiliation, and start figuring out how the Confed Global offices worked.

In the first few weeks, he learned a lot by observing.

He learned on the first day that the legal department was not actually Confed Global’s legal department, but independent contractors kept on retainer, who represented Fisk’s associates upon request. Foggy was not allowed to have his own clients.

Over the next few weeks, he learned that Donovan did most of the work, and liked a blowjob with his morning coffee. Two or three days in, Donovan snapped a picture of Foggy on his knees with Donovan’s cock in his mouth, and told Foggy that he’d sent it to Wesley. Just in case.

Matthew, on the other hand, didn’t seem to do much legal work at all. As far as Foggy could tell, he spent most of his time either out on vaguely outlined assignments, or lounging around the office. As Foggy observed them over those few weeks, he saw that Matthew disdained both Wesley and Donovan, and they both barely tolerated his casual attitude. The only people who seemed to like Matthew in the office were Fisk and Frank.

Foggy figured out that Frank and Matthew were sleeping together by the end of the first week.

Sometime in the second week, Matthew told Foggy to call him Matt. It sent prickles down Foggy’s spine.

A few days after that, Matt made a joke at Wesley’s expense after he had left them in the conference room. Foggy laughed, and it felt like the first time he’d laughed in years. He covered his mouth, and looked up to see Matt smiling. Not grinning, really smiling, and Foggy felt normal for a moment.

Then he remembered where he was, and the misery set back in.

Foggy stopped crying himself to sleep sometime in the third week.

Wesley texted him one morning: “Frank is coming to your office.” And a moment later: “He’s earned the same treatment Matthew received.”

Foggy could barely summon the energy to feel sick. Instead, he felt worn down, until all he could feel was a dull acceptance. When Frank closed the door to his office, he obediently got on his knees and opened his mouth.

Frank was rougher than Matt or Donovan had been. Foggy choked as Frank’s cock hit the back of his throat, and Frank just grabbed his hair and kept thrusting. When it was over, Foggy’s throat felt raw and sore, and Frank just ruffled his hair before leaving without a word.

That night, Foggy read a news article about a massacre at the offices of Kitchen Cab. The Russian mafia, was the speculation, but nothing confirmed.

A few days later, Foggy saw Matt leaving the office just before lunch. Two hours later, he got a text from Wesley, just saying “Treat Matthew well.”

Treat. Foggy was learning the code words, too.

When Matt came into his office, he leaned against Foggy’s desk as Foggy got on his knees. At this close range, Foggy noticed a dark stain, just dots, really, across the front of Matt’s trousers. And the dark stuff under Matt’s nails as he unzipped his fly and pushed into Foggy’s mouth.

He stroked Foggy’s hair as Foggy sucked him, and kissed his forehead when he was done.

In the morning, Foggy read about a cop being found dead. Missing since midday, found in the evening.

And that was the pattern. Suck Donovan every morning. Frank and Matt, one of them every few days. Donovan treated him like a particularly accommodating robot, Frank fucked his face, and Matt…

Matt smiled when he came, and stroked Foggy’s hair, and said “thank you” when it was over.

And that wasn’t all. Matt was funny, when Wesley and Donovan were out of earshot. Matt was smart, too, would jump into a legal discussion with an incisive point that crystallized everything Foggy was trying to articulate. And he’d invite himself into Foggy’s office during lunch and grin over a salad at Foggy, and Foggy would forget what he’d been turned into.

Foggy decided he could almost live with that, getting on his knees for Donovan and Frank and Matt. He resigned himself to it, told himself that it could be worse (he wasn’t sure how, but he was sure it could be).

“Downstairs. 5 minutes,” came the text from Wesley.

Foggy found himself swept into one of the chauffeured cars with Wesley.

“Mr Van Lunt is a major sponsor of Mr Fisk’s Better Tomorrow initiative,” Wesley was saying. “Mr Fisk is adamant that Mr Van Lunt appreciate his importance to us.” He looked coolly at Foggy, who swallowed and stared at his hands in his lap. “I’m sure you’ll be…accommodating in this meeting, won’t you, Mr Nelson?”

“Yes, Mr Wesley,” Foggy said quietly.

Van Lunt’s office was a huge nineteenth-century space, all dark wood and brass fixtures. The man himself was big and broad, powerfully built, older than Wesley. Wesley and Van Lunt discussed financial arrangements in depth, and Foggy tried to follow, but got lost in the details. And then Wesley said:

“And, of course, my employer would like me to introduce one of our newest recruits, Franklin Nelson.” Van Lunt smiled, and looked Foggy up and down, as if he hadn’t been sitting there the whole time.

“Not much of a talker, is he?” Van Lunt said.

“He has other skills, which we are delighted to offer you.” Wesley glanced at Foggy. “Mr Nelson.”

Foggy couldn’t meet Van Lunt’s eyes as he went to stand in front of him and drop to his knees. He heard Van Lunt’s chuckle of recognition, but didn’t register the words Van Lunt and Wesley exchanged over his head as he unzipped Van Lunt’s pants.

Van Lunt’s cock was thick, thicker than any Foggy had ever been intimate with, and he struggled to take it all in his mouth. Van Lunt grunted and pushed down on the back of Foggy’s head, and Foggy’s jaw ached with the effort.

When he was done, Van Lunt grinned and looked at Wesley.

“Tell Fisk I appreciate his…generosity.”

“He thought you might like to make a regular arrangement?” Wesley replied smoothly.

Van Lunt nodded. “Maybe a standing appointment for some back-end work?”

“We’ll set it up.”

In the car back to the office, Wesley said, mildly, “Mr Fisk is very pleased with your performance thus far.”

Foggy had nothing to say to that. He nodded, hoping it was enough.

“He’d like to expand your responsibilities,” Wesley continued. “I’m sure you’ll appreciate the delicacy of your duties. Mr Fisk will be very…displeased if you should disappoint him in carrying them out.”

Foggy nodded again. He’d seen blood under Matt’s fingernails and smelled gunpowder on Frank’s hands.

“Good,” Wesley said.

The next week, Foggy got another text from Wesley, just before Matt usually came in for lunch: “Car downstairs will take you to VL meeting. Be accommodating.”

The car took him to a hotel on the East side that Foggy knew from the paperwork that Fisk owned. The driver handed Foggy a keycard in its little envelope, with a room number on it. The doorman held the door for him and nodded politely. In the elevator, Foggy looked at himself in the mirrored doors: pale, drawn, shadows around his eyes. Hardly the face of some sort of corporate-owned whore.

He hadn’t been able to even think the word before now.

The keycard let him into a suite that was blandly luxurious, decorated in shades of white and grey. The bed had been turned down, and Foggy noted a bottle of lube and a box of condoms on the bedside table, picked one up with a shaking hand.

There was a knock at the door.

Foggy took a deep breath before he opened it to find Van Lunt there, a satisfied smile on his face. He stepped aside to let Van Lunt in, and debated offering to take Van Lunt’s coat - was he the host here? What sort of etiquette applied?

Van Lunt answered the question by stepping into Foggy’s space and sliding a hand into his coat and over his ass, squeezing hard.

“You gonna keep those on, baby?” Van Lunt purred in his ear. Foggy hated being called “baby.”

Foggy swallowed. “Whatever you want. Sir.” “Sir” seemed safe enough to call Van Lunt.

Van Lunt took a step forward, forcing Foggy backwards. He slid his coat off his shoulders and tossed it over an armchair.

“I want you…” Van Lunt was walking him backwards towards the bedroom. “…to take those off…and get on that bed with your ass in the air.” He slid his suit jacket off and dropped it to the floor. Foggy stumbled as they reached the bedroom. Van Lunt raised his eyebrows, and Foggy fumbled with his own coat, then his suit jacket. Van Lunt stared at him, appraising, calculating, until Foggy was naked, and Van Lunt smirked and stepped forward, running his hands over Foggy’s skin. Foggy tried not to shudder as Van Lunt leaned in and bit sharply at his neck, just under his ear. Van Lunt’s hand dropped to Foggy’s cock and Foggy gasped, surprised.

“That’s it, baby,” Van Lunt whispered in his ear before turning him around and smacking his ass. “Up you go.”

Foggy crawled up onto the bed and tried to breathe deep, mentally reciting the things he’d learned from his boyfriends. “Relax, or it’ll hurt.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Van Lunt pick up the lube and the condoms, then felt Van Lunt climb onto the bed behind him. He gasped again when the cold lube trickled over his hole, and he felt Van Lunt push a finger inside him. “Relax, or it’ll hurt.” Van Lunt was murmuring something about “so good,” but Foggy wasn’t listening. Two fingers, and he could feel the stretch now. He pressed his lips together, trying to fight back a whimper. Then the fingers were gone, and he heard the tearing noise of the condom wrapper. No, no, not yet, not yet. But Van Lunt’s thick cock was already pressing up against him, stretching him, and he felt tears spring into his eyes, and he couldn’t hold back a cry.

“Like that, baby?” Van Lunt murmured. He kept up a steady monologue, the words “sweet” and “tight” featuring frequently, and Foggy just buried his face in the mattress and tried to breathe through the pain.

Van Lunt came with a groan, and Foggy collapsed on the bed when he pulled out. He heard Van Lunt in the bathroom, the sound of running water, then opened his eyes to see Van Lunt, still fully dressed except for his coat and suit jacket, looking down at him.

“Aren’t you just the sweetest thing?” Van Lunt said. He gave Foggy a pat on the ass as he went towards the door. “See you next week, sugar.”

Foggy dragged himself into the shower, then down to the car. Walking hurt, sitting hurt, everything hurt, but he couldn’t find it in himself to cry, or to feel anything beyond the physical. When he got back to his office, Matt appeared, leaning against his door. 

“You weren’t here for lunch,” Matt said. He sniffed, as if he could smell something off.

“Had a meeting,” Foggy said.

Matt nodded and wandered off. Half an hour later, he strolled in and dropped a takeout box on Foggy’s desk.

“You shouldn’t skip lunch,” Matt said, and left.

Foggy opened the box. Pad thai, from the place he liked, that he would stop by in the mornings to pick up because it was too far to walk for his lunch break. Matt had walked five blocks to get it.

And through the dullness that had overlaid his emotions, something broke through: gratitude.


	3. Chapter 3

Foggy’s appointment with Van Lunt was always on Wednesdays, during Van Lunt’s lunch. Every Wednesday, he’d come back to find a meal waiting for him on his desk. Pad thai. A towering deli sandwich. A small pizza. Matt didn’t join him for those lunches. Foggy found that he missed him.

Matt did stop by Foggy’s office later in the afternoons, always wrinkling his nose as he stepped in. He never wrinkled his nose on other days. One time, early on, he cocked his head as Foggy winced when he walked across the office to the filing cabinet in the corner.

“He’s hurting you,” Matt said. It was a neutral statement; they both knew it was true.

Foggy shrugged, then caught himself. “I just shrugged,” he said. “Not like there’s anything I can do.” He pulled out the file he was looking for, closed the drawer, and turned around to find Matt a lot closer than he had been five seconds before. He drew the file up to his chest, as if he could protect himself from any of them. Matt didn’t seem to notice, just reached up and brushed his fingers through Foggy’s hair.

“You know it’s not supposed to hurt, right?” he said, and Foggy thought that he might even look a little sad. Then he leaned in, and Foggy felt his breath on his ear. “It’s supposed to feel good,” he whispered, and he pressed his lips to Foggy’s cheek before stepping back and disappearing out the door.

It took Foggy a moment to realize that he wasn’t shaking out of fear.

He spent the next few days trying to reason with himself, trying to rationalize it, telling himself not to give in, reminding himself what Matt had cheerfully done to him. Was still doing to him.

Berating himself for thinking of Matt when he jerked off in the shower.

But when he was naked and on all fours in front of Van Lunt, he tried to breathe deep, and remembered Matt’s voice whispering “It’s supposed to feel good,” and Matt’s lips on his cheek, and that was something he could hold onto.

It still hurt. He couldn’t change that.

After a week of conflicting emotions and avoiding Matt, he got the usual text from Wesley: “Treat Matthew well.”

And Matt was there, handsome and smiling. He kissed the top of Foggy’s head before Foggy got on his knees, and his fingertips drifted over Foggy’s face, brushing over his lips. He pushed two fingers into Foggy’s mouth, and Foggy sucked them. Matt’s smile widened, and Foggy felt good that he’d made Matt smile, the nice smile, the one that was a little soft around the edges.

If Foggy was going to survive, he needed help. And Matt was the only one who was offering.

He took Matt in his mouth slowly, teasing with his tongue before sliding down, concentrating hard to see what made Matt gasp and moan out “God, Franklin, yes.” He took his time, drawing it out, trying to make a point to Matt. To show Matt what he was offering.

He didn’t notice he was hard until Matt came in his mouth, and was holding Foggy’s head against his thigh, stroking his hair.

“I don’t think I’m the only one who enjoyed that,” Matt said, and Foggy wanted to scream, but it was also true. He swallowed down the retort that he didn’t want any of this, and let Matt pull him to his feet and turn him around so he was perched against the edge of his desk. Matt was still smiling faintly as he leaned in, his nose against Foggy’s neck, and breathed deep. “You smell so good,” he murmured, his hand drifting down Foggy’s chest, then unbuckling his belt and unzipping his fly. Matt’s hand slid into Foggy’s pants, and Foggy knew this was a dangerous man, this was a dangerous place, and any ideas he had about protecting himself were probably hopelessly naive. But he leaned his head back and let Matt stroke him, feeling Matt’s breath on his neck. He bit back a moan as he came, and the sound was more like a whimper. Matt held a tissue to his cock, neatly wiping him off, then tucking him back into his pants and zipping him up.

“Why did you do that?” Foggy said before he could stop himself.

Matt just smiled and kissed his cheek. “Because I wanted to,” he said.

Foggy didn’t think Matt saw the irony. He wasn’t even sure if he’d achieved anything aside from more conflicted feelings and humiliating fantasies. Matt didn’t behave any differently towards him, after that, even seemed to back off on his more…confusing advances. Foggy resigned himself to trying to think of a Plan B for surviving Confed Global.

Plan B hadn’t materialized by the time Donovan got a court case. Foggy watched him leave early in the morning, carrying the papers that Foggy had prepared for him. Donovan hadn’t wanted a second chair. That was fine with Foggy.

A knocking on his door dragged his attention away from his computer, and he saw Matt standing there. Matt never knocked.

“You know this is my office, right?” Foggy said.

“Yeah, I know,” Matt said, closing the door. When he crossed the office, he didn’t have his usual grace. If Foggy didn’t know any better, he’d think he was nervous. “Donovan’s going to be gone the whole day.”

“I know.”

“So I thought…” Matt shifted his weight, then fished into his pockets and dropped two things on Foggy’s desk. A condom, and a small bottle of lube.

Foggy nodded. “I just nodded,” he said, and he’s not sure what Matt heard in his voice, but Matt reached out to him and pulled him to his feet. Again, Matt pressed his nose against Foggy’s neck and breathed in.

“I told you…” Matt whispered, “it’s supposed to feel good.”

And Foggy did shiver, then, and Matt grinned.

It all happened a little too fast, Matt pulling his pants down and bending Foggy over the desk, and sliding one finger inside. Foggy did whimper then, and heard Matt murmur “Let me hear you.” There was no-one down at this end of the offices except for him and Matt. Matt’s finger was gentle, slow and slick, and Foggy almost shouted when it brushed his prostate, and Matt laughed and did it again. His other hand stroked Foggy’s hair as he pushed a second finger in, pressing gently to open Foggy up to him, but never pausing for a moment. Slow and steady, then a third finger, just as gentle and just as relentless.

“Think you can take me, sweetheart?” Matt whispered in his ear.

“Yeah - yeah - ah!” That was Matt’s fingers on his prostate again. Then they were gone, and Foggy tried to catch his breath as he heard Matt tearing open the condom packet. Matt slid into him slowly, almost carefully, until he was buried completely inside him, then out, until only the tip of his cock was still inside. He kept that up, slow in and slow out, and Foggy couldn’t control the moans that he made at every drag of Matt’s cock against him. Matt reached around and stroked Foggy’s cock, keeping the same slow pace, his face pressed against Foggy’s shoulders, gradually moving faster until Foggy felt his cock twitch inside him. He pulled out, and jerked Foggy off still bent over the desk, his teeth nipping at Foggy’s ear as he whispered “You’re so good, Franklin.”

Afterwards, when the endorphins had dissipated and his heartrate was back to normal, Foggy realized that Wesley hadn’t texted him to tell him Matt was coming. It might mean nothing. It might mean that Wesley no longer thought he needed to tell Foggy how to service Matt.

Or it might mean that Matt had just fucked Foggy behind Wesley’s back.

And if that was the case…Foggy might have a chance, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to give a huge thank you to everyone who has commented! It's all super-appreciated, and I'm really glad you're enjoying this epic trash heap!


	4. Chapter 4

Wesley didn’t bother accompanying Foggy to Landman & Zack. He had his assistant drop a file on Foggy’s desk, with a post-it on top that said “L & Z meeting 2:30. Treat PL well. Offer regular arrangement.” Wesley’s assistant looked at Foggy with disdain before she left his office, as neat and efficient as her boss. Foggy crumpled up the post-it and threw it hard against the wall, watching it bounce off onto the floor.

He’d barely spoken to Parrish Landman when he’d worked at L & Z. A brief meeting where Landman had welcomed the new interns. A meeting or two that Foggy had sat in on. Mostly, Foggy had reported to Bonnie.

Staring at the crumpled post-it, Foggy suddenly realized how Wesley had found out about his and Bonnie’s investigation. He wondered if Wesley was offering him as a reward to Landman.

In the car, he wondered what he would say to Landman. If he’d have to say anything. Weird, how he was more worried about that.

It turned out that he didn’t need to say much. Landman told his assistant he was not to be disturbed, then led Foggy to the leather-covered couches that were out of view of his office’s glass door. Foggy said, “Mr Wesley wanted me to give this to you,” and handed over the file. Landman gestured for him to sit, and sat opposite him, leafing through the file. For several excruciating minutes, Foggy sat silently, watching Landman read the file. Then Landman closed it and tossed it on the couch next to him.

“Very comprehensive. Let Wesley know I appreciate his attention to detail,” Landman said.

“Yes. Sir,” Foggy said. He wasn’t sure if that was his cue, but Landman still had his legs crossed, one arm draped over his lap.

“I remember you,” Landman said. “I remember Martin saying you looked the type.”

Martin was Martin Zack, Landman’s partner.

“What type?” Foggy said.

“Ambitious. Willing to do anything to get ahead. I thought he was wrong, but Martin does have a way of reading people. And here you are.” 

He did uncross his legs then, and tapped a finger on his knee. Foggy stepped around the coffee table between them and knelt in front of his old boss, the man who was responsible for Bonnie’s death and his own degradation. He shut out those thoughts; they wouldn’t do him any good, not now, not with Landman pulling out his cock in front of him. He opened his mouth and swallowed Landman down, speeding up obediently when Landman grunted, “Faster.” Landman seemed to want it quick and efficient, and Foggy obliged. Landman never touched him, but regarded him coolly as Foggy sat back, swallowing.

“Should have had you do that before,” Landman said, and Foggy’s heart sank for the person he had been, before.

“Mr Wesley would like to offer you a regular arrangement,” he managed to say.

There was a pause as Landman’s eyes narrowed.

“Yes, that would be appreciated. Tell him I’ll have my assistant set it up.” He picked up the file, and re-opened it. “You can go.”

Foggy rinsed out his mouth in the bathroom two floors down, before getting back in the elevator. His stomach hurt, as if rebelling against what he’d swallowed. He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, and tried to steady himself as he heard the door open.

“Foggy-bear?!”

His eyes snapped open to see Marci stepping in, smiling broadly.

“Marci -“ he stammered, standing up straight. “What are you doing here?”

“I should ask you that, I work here.”

“What, for L & Z?”

“Yeah. Got the job when you left for your bright corporate future.” She nudged him with her elbow. “How is the fancy new job?” He stared at her, couldn’t put anything into words, not even a lie, and Marci’s face softened. “Oh.” She looked him up and down, taking everything in. “Is that why you’re here? You want to come back?”

He shook his head vehemently. “No. No, I don’t want to come back. I was - dropping off a file to Landman.”

Marci nodded, and the elevator doors opened on the lobby. Foggy muttered, “Good to see you,” before heading to the revolving door.

“You want to get a drink?” Marci called after him. He stopped, and turned to her as she walked toward him. “You look like you could use one.”

“I…” Yes, he very much could use one. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

“Tonight. We’ll go to Luke’s, you always like that place. Around eight?”

“That sounds great,” he repeated. Marci reached out and squeezed his arm.

“See you then,” she said, before turning away and heading to the reception desk.

He spent the afternoon trying to think of plausible euphemisms that he could use to tell Marci just how bad things were. “They’re just using me,” worked. So did “I’m just a piece of meat to them.” “Corporate drone” was a good substitute for “whore.”

When he told Marci, over his beer while she sipped a martini, she was sympathetic, and sharp. She asked questions that skirted too close to the truth, and stared at him in that way that he knew meant she knew he was hiding something.

“Are they asking you to do anything unethical?” she said. “You can report them to the Bar Association for that.”

“Does pimping me out count as unethical?” was not what Foggy said. Instead he said, “No, the cases themselves are fine.”

Two beers later, he told Marci to be careful around Landman. “It’s nothing specific I can tell you, but there’s stuff in his relationship with Confed Global that…”

“You think it’s something shady?”

“I don’t know,” he lied. “But there’s some info that we have that I think came from him. Info we shouldn’t have. Oh, and Bonnie said he creeped her out.”

“She’s the one who died?”

“Yeah.”

Marci nodded, looking thoughtful.

After the next round, they decided to call it a night. They stood on the corner, debating whether to walk or find a cab, and Foggy noticed that Marci had slipped her hand into his. They decided to walk, and Foggy noticed they were heading towards his apartment, closer than Marci’s. She didn’t try to leave, and Foggy felt more relaxed than he had in months, being next to someone he knew he could trust.

He kissed her on the stoop of his building, and she came up with him. She tossed her coat over his coatrack and kicked off her shoes, and he led her into the bedroom. She straddled his lap, her pencil skirt riding up, and kissed his neck and his ear the way she knew he liked.

He used to like. Now, all he could think of was Matt’s hot breath on his neck, and all the conflicting feelings that went with that memory.

“What’s wrong, Foggy-bear?” she said, sitting back, her brows furrowed.

“Nothing, just…it’s been a weird couple of months.”

He kissed her before she could answer, and he rolled her onto her back, unbuttoning her blouse, burying his face in her cleavage. He pulled down one of the cups of her bra, and started to tease her nipple. She moaned quietly.

And then the door was kicked in.

Foggy’s apartment was tiny, and the bedroom door was still open, so he only had to look up to see the black-clad figure charging through his living room, straight at him. He struggled to his feet just as the man in black stormed into the bedroom, and was knocked aside into the wall. He heard Marci scream as the man grabbed her and dragged her off the bed.

“Marci!” Foggy shouted, but the man had thrown her into the living room.

“Get out!” the man shouted at her. “Now!”

Marci stumbled to her feet, but she didn’t run, she actually launched herself at the man in black, who grabbed her and dragged her across the living room to the open door. Foggy could hear him talking in low tones, then saw him snatch her coat off the coat rack and her purse and shoes off the floor, shove them into her arms, and push her out the door.

Foggy stood in the bedroom, and watched the man in black turn back to him. There was a black cloth tied around the top of his face, but Foggy had spent enough time at Confed Global to know that mouth and scruffy jaw.

“Matt?!”

Matt didn’t even acknowledge Foggy’s incredulity, just strode over and grabbed Foggy around the upper arm. Hard.

“C’mon, Wesley’s waiting,” he growled.

“What the hell is going on?” Foggy tried to free his arm from Matt’s grasp, but Matt just gripped him harder.

“You’re in deep shit, OK?” Matt said, dragging Foggy out the door and down the hall. “Were you really this stupid?”

“About what? I didn’t do anything!”

Matt shoved him against the wall, nose to nose with him.

“Don’t be a fucking idiot,” he growled, then dragged Foggy down the stairs.

One of Fisk’s SUVs was waiting for them on the curb. Matt shoved Foggy into the back seat, then climbed in after him. Wesley was already sitting in the far seat, so Foggy was caught between the two of them. Once the door was closed, Matt took off the mask. The car started moving.

“Where’s the girl?” Wesley demanded, and Foggy realized he was talking to Matt.

“Gone,” Matt said. “She works for Landman. Do you want to explain to him why she got roughed up?”

Foggy’s heart was pounding. “What are you going to do -“

Wesley sighed. “Nothing. Apparently.” He glared at Matt, and Foggy realized that the two men were only barely keeping civil. “But you, Mr Nelson…Was I perhaps unclear when I said that we own you?”

Later, Foggy would blame the beer for what he said. “No, you made that perfectly clear when you made me suck any cock you put in front of me.”

He felt Matt’s hand slip around his arm, and squeeze a warning.

“Apparently not perfectly clear,” Wesley said. “Allow me to be…crude for the sake of clarity. You belong to us. You fuck who we tell you to, when we tell you to.” He pulled his phone out of his jacket, and swiped at the screen. He held it out, and Foggy saw a picture of himself on his knees, a cock in his mouth. Wesley swiped again, and a new picture appeared, of Foggy on all fours on the hotel room bed, Van Lunt fucking him from behind. “Since Matthew has deemed it necessary to allow your friend to leave, perhaps you’d like us to send her these pictures? We have quite the collection of you with Van Lunt.”

Matt squeezed Foggy’s arm hard. Foggy kept silent.

“She doesn’t know anything,” Matt growled. “No use getting her involved.”

“You’re sure about that?” Wesley snapped.

“Yes.”

Wesley gave them both an icy stare, then put his phone away.

“Mr Nelson,” he started, “consider this a warning. The next time you think you can fuck someone without our approval, we will know. We’ll show them those pictures, and then we’ll make you watch as we…recreate them. Am I clear?”

“Yes,” Foggy gritted out.

“And if you so much as speak with Ms Stahl again, we will kill her. I’m sure Mr Landman will complain about the inconvenience, but we’ll be sure that you provide him with some compensation for his trouble.”

Matt gave his arm another squeeze, and Foggy stayed quiet. The car drove for a minute more, then stopped.

“Good night, Mr Nelson,” Wesley said as Matt climbed out. Foggy didn’t acknowledge Wesley as he stepped out in front of his own building. He glanced at Matt, who looked furious as he jumped back in the car and slammed the door.

Upstairs, Foggy’s apartment door was broken, hanging off one hinge. The lock had torn out of the door, and the frame had splintered from the impact of Matt’s boot. He’d have to get the whole thing replaced. He half-heartedly pushed the door into the frame, propped up at an angle. Then, for want of anything better to do, he took a shower.

Under the water, he turned over the events of the evening in his head. He should feel humiliated, afraid, even. Instead, he just felt a dark, blinding rage that Wesley was controlling every facet of his life, that Wesley was threatening innocent people just to keep him in line. And a tiny bubble of hope, because he knew Matt was just as furious as he was.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If I were doing chapter titles, this one would be called "That's Not How Consent Works, Matt."

Foggy closed the door to Matt’s office behind him, relishing that, for once, he could make Matt look surprised.

“Why’d you let Marci go?” he said. He leaned against the door, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You heard what I said,” Matt said, trying to look cool and unruffled, and failing.

“I heard the bullshit you fed Wesley. Tell me why.”

Matt took off his glasses and ran his hand over his face. “There was no point in getting her involved. It would just create more problems down the road.”

Foggy made a buzzer noise. “Enh. Bullshit. Try again.”

“Fuck’s sake, Franklin, what do you want me to say?”

“Try the truth.” Foggy knew he should be more scared, that Matt could hurt him in more ways than he could possibly imagine. But then he remembered Matt’s hand on his arm, telling him to stay quiet and let him do the talking.

“Look, you and I both know Wesley gets off on making people do whatever he wants - he’s a dick. I’m not about to beat up some girl just because she wanted to get laid.”

Foggy watched Matt fidget with something on his desk about the size of a pen, and realized it was a sort of dart.

“What about me?” he said.

Matt pressed the tip of the dart into the desk. Not hard, just enough to mark it. He was frowning tightly.

“I don’t see the point in controlling every aspect of your life,” Matt said. The dart scraped a sharp line into the top of the desk.

Foggy nodded and crossed the office in just a few strides. He stepped around the desk, leaned down, and kissed Matt full on the mouth. Matt didn’t move, not even when Foggy stepped back and walked away from him. As Foggy opened the door, he heard a weak “Franklin” from behind him, but he ignored it, didn’t even look back as he left Matt’s office and fled to his own. Matt didn’t follow him.

In his office, behind his closed door, Foggy slumped in his chair and closed his eyes, trying to calm himself down. If he was any judge, it couldn’t have gone better. He’d debated maybe blowing Matt, but decided that a kiss was more intimate, and fleeing after would keep Matt off balance. And if Matt was unsure about Foggy’s feelings, well, hey, that made two of them. Foggy fought down the tiny rumblings of guilt for manipulating Matt. He hadn’t asked for any of this, being raped and threatened and pimped out, and he was determined to find a way out, and Matt looked like the key to that.

And maybe…maybe Matt wanted out of here, too.

If he kept thinking about kissing Matt, well, he could use that.

But whatever he was doing with Matt, it didn’t change how Wesley used him. Wesley made good on his intimation of expanding Foggy’s duties. He had standing appointments with Van Lunt and Landman every week; Van Lunt still enjoyed fucking him hard and called him “sugar”, while Landman left instructions that Foggy was to be naked and prepped by the time he got to the hotel suite. Landman fucked him quickly and efficiently, and wasted no words either expressing pleasure or disappointment. 

Once, Foggy tried to guess where the hidden camera was, but gave up, since they already had enough photos, and Wesley would notice if Foggy found the camera.

When Donovan won his court case, Foggy got a text from Wesley with an address and instructions to “be accommodating.” It turned out to be Donovan’s apartment, where Foggy first sucked Donovan until he was hard, then got on all fours so Donovan could fuck him. Donovan treated him with the same detached, impersonal manner he always used, whether Foggy was sucking his cock or outlining a relevant precedent.

A few days later, Wesley sent Foggy to the hotel suite early in the morning, and Foggy found himself responsible for entertaining a man named Lee, who turned out to be the son of Leland Owlsley, who Foggy had seen in the offices. Lee was only a little older than Foggy, wore a wedding ring, and seemed under the impression that Foggy was an escort his father had hired. Foggy didn’t disabuse him of the notion. Lee liked having his ass serviced, and Foggy found that he was far past the point of caring what he was told to do. He obediently knelt behind Lee and licked his hole until Lee was ordering him to fuck him, then put on a condom and obeyed every order Lee moaned out until Lee came all over the sheets.

At the end of the afternoon, Lee left to have dinner with his father, and put an envelope full of cash on the bedside table. Foggy counted it when he got home.

All of which meant he was used to getting curt texts from Wesley with an address and a time and a code word: “treat” meant he was only supposed to give blowjobs, while “accommodate” meant he had to acquiesce to whatever the other person wanted. This particular night was a sixth-floor walkup apartment in Hell’s Kitchen, not far from Foggy’s own apartment. He was supposed to arrive by 11, and be accommodating. Climbing the stairs, Foggy wondered who it was, remembered some of the people he’d seen in the office, meeting with Fisk. The state Senator, maybe, or the pair of tattooed Russians in leather jackets. He hoped it wasn’t the latter.

What he wasn’t expecting was Matt opening the door, wearing just a hoodie and sweatpants and no glasses.

“Oh, Jesus,” Matt swore, running his hand through his wet hair. He looked like he’d just gotten out of the shower. “I told Wesley -“ He shook his head, and walked into the apartment, leaving Foggy confused and standing in the hall.

“Do you want me to go?” he called.

“What?” Matt said. “No! No, just - yeah, come in.”

Foggy stepped in and closed the door behind him.

“Everything OK?” he said.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine, it’s just -“ Matt picked up the towel he’d apparently dropped and rubbed it over his hair. “You want to get a drink?”

This wasn’t usually how these assignments went.

“Yeah, sure,” Foggy said. Matt nodded.

“Give me a sec, I’ll get dressed.”

He slid the door to his bedroom closed, leaving Foggy in the living room. There was a pile of black clothing near the bathroom door, and a Japanese sword in its sheath leaning against the wall. Foggy decided he didn’t want to know about those, and for want of something better to do, Foggy wandered to the window, staring at the brightly-lit billboard atop the building across the street. CGI cherry blossoms cascaded across the screen, advertising a Chinese airline.

He heard the bedroom door slide open, and turned to see Matt in a sweater and jeans, his glasses back on. He allowed himself to admire the way the sweater stretched across Matt’s chest as Matt said, “Let’s go.”

Foggy was expecting Matt to have expensive tastes in bars, so he was surprised when Matt led him to a hole-in-the-wall bar whose red neon sign in the window said its name was Josie’s. No-one gave them a second glance except the woman behind the bar, who slid a bottle down at them. Matt caught it effortlessly, and reached over the bar to snag two glasses.

“How do you do that?” Foggy said.

“Hm?” Matt poured out two drinks and slid one over to Foggy.

“You’re blind.”

“So they tell me.”

“But you caught that bottle. And you knew there were glasses in front of us.”

“Maybe I just drink here a lot.”

Foggy reached out to grab the bottle, and Matt moved it out of his reach.

“Yeah, sure,” Foggy said. He took a sip of…whatever it was, and promptly coughed. Matt took a sip as elegantly as if it were a hundred-dollar bottle of whiskey. “What is that?”

“Josie’s never told me,” Matt said, the corner of his mouth turning up in a grin. “I have it on good authority that there’s an eel in it, though.” He held up the bottle, and Foggy could see a small coil at the bottom.

“Yup. Something like that.” Foggy took another drink. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Some sort of expression flitted across Matt’s face, and then he just looked sad. “It’s better if you don’t ask any questions, Franklin,” he said, taking a drink.

Hearing his full name, Foggy made a decision.

“Foggy,” he said. “You can call me Foggy. All of my friends do.”

He couldn’t put a name to the look on Matt’s face.

“Are we friends?” Matt asked, very, very softly.

“I don’t know,” Foggy said honestly.

Matt poured himself another drink.

“It was an accident,” he said. “I was nine. Chemical spill, blinded me, and the rest of my senses…you know how they say that when you lose one sense, the others get sharper to compensate?”   


“Yeah.”

“As far as I know, it’s not true. But for me…I lost my sight, and gained…so much more.”

“So, you’ve got, what? Super-senses?”

Matt grinned. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Like what?”

“I know what you had for breakfast. Egg on a roll, from the bodega on 37th. You like those, you have them all the time. And I know your heart’s speeding up when I’m telling you this.”

“You can hear heartbeats?”

“Helps to anticipate behavior. Tell when someone’s lying.” Foggy thought he almost panicked, then Matt put his hand on his knee. “Relax, I don’t…” He sighed and took another drink, leaving his hand on Foggy’s leg. “I don’t blame you, wanting to keep some things to yourself.”

Foggy didn’t know what to say to that, but Matt’s hand was still on his leg, so all his careful planning might not be in vain.

“I’m not the only one,” he said.

Matt chuckled. “You have no idea.”

When they finished their drinks, Matt paid Josie and let Foggy guide him out of the bar. He tugged at Foggy’s arm as they turned down the sidewalk.

“Do you…want to come back with me?” Matt said, and Foggy could feel his fingers fidgeting with his coat sleeve.

“I thought I didn’t have a choice,” Foggy said, and wondered if he’d gone too far, but Matt just reached up, his cane dangling from his wrist, and brushed Foggy’s hair back from his face.

“Of course you do,” he said. “Foggy.” The name came out as if Matt were testing it.

And Foggy realized that he could walk away right now, and Matt would never tell Wesley.

Instead, he leaned in and kissed Matt. Tentatively, almost chastely, until Matt slid his hand around to the back of Foggy’s neck and deepened the kiss, pushing his tongue into Foggy’s mouth.

“Say it,” Matt whispered as he broke the kiss.

“I want to come back with you,” Foggy said, knowing that Matt was listening for a lie.

Matt smiled, bright and brilliant, and led Foggy back to his apartment. Once they were inside, he pushed Foggy against the wall opposite the front door, dropping their coats to the floor, and ravaged Foggy’s mouth. Foggy was aware of hands everywhere, then being pulled by his belt buckle through Matt’s apartment. He wasn’t sure when he lost his shirt, but he was very aware when Matt took his off, because he actually had to stop Matt and hold him at arm’s length to take it all in. Matt was cut like a Greek god, lean and hard and beautiful, and he grinned when Foggy traced his abs with a fingertip before pulling Foggy into another kiss. He bit at the skin under Foggy’s jaw, murmuring something about how good Foggy smelled, and his hand slipped into Foggy’s pants, stroking him. Then he turned them around, and Foggy stumbled backwards and sat down on the bed, and Matt was on top of him, making short work of their pants, pushing Foggy down so he was lying prone on the bed, naked and spread out and hard as a rock. He reached between them to stroke their cocks together, but Matt snatched his wrist and pinned it above Foggy’s head.

“That’s for me,” Matt whispered, and Foggy recognized the cat-like grin that had so terrified him when they’d first met. Matt followed it up with another kiss, before fumbling in the bedside table and pulling out a bottle of lube. As he slicked up his fingers, he shifted his knees between Foggy’s legs, spreading him even wider, before slipping a finger slowly into Foggy’s hole.

Matt worked Foggy open with the same patient, relentless strokes he’d used before, only this time they were punctuated by Matt leaning down to kiss Foggy anywhere he could: his lips, his neck, his nipples. By the time Matt had three fingers inside him, Foggy was panting and moaning, and he dropped his hand to his cock to give himself some relief. Quick as a flash, Matt’s free hand had his pinned against the pillow.

“Do I have to tie you down?” Matt said, and his fingers inside Foggy pressed against his prostate. Foggy couldn’t articulate either a yes or a no, just a long groan that made Matt cock his head to the side and grin. “Guess that’s a yes,” he said.

His fingers slipped out, leaving Foggy feeling stretched and empty, and he wiped them off on a disposable wipe from the bedside table. Foggy tried to catch his breath, distracted by the way the dim light of the billboard reflected off of Matt’s muscles. Then Matt was on him again, tongue sliding against his, pulling his arms up above his head. Foggy caught a glimpse of a length of wide black ribbon in Matt’s hand, then realized there were loops on either end of it as Matt wrapped the middle around a bar in his headboard. He slipped Foggy’s hands through the loops, letting the tension tighten them. As far as bondage went, it was fairly mild; Foggy could easily reach across and loosen the cuffs himself if he wanted.

The question of what Foggy really wanted was still up for debate.

He watched Matt roll on a condom, and position himself between Foggy’s legs, then felt Matt’s cock filling him slowly, inch by inch. He focussed on Matt’s face, watched his mouth drop open and his eyes close. Matt’s hand ran up his thigh, over his hip and his side to his neck and then his face, the fingertips brushing Foggy’s lips. Matt pushed further in, pushed a moan out of Foggy, until he was buried completely inside Foggy’s body. He started to thrust, finding the angle that dragged his cock against Foggy’s prostate, and Foggy couldn’t help the moans and gasps he made, that seemed to make Matt grin and thrust harder. He was soon begging Matt to touch his cock, to let him come, but Matt just grinned and leaned down to kiss him, his abs brushing against Foggy’s erection with a terrible teasing sensation, and whispered, “Not yet.”

Matt came inside him with a shout, and collapsed on top of him, pressing lazy kisses to Foggy’s collarbone. When he pulled out, Foggy actually whined, desperate not to be left hanging. Matt grinned and ran one finger up the length of Foggy’s cock, making him writhe.

“I guess I should take care of that?” Matt said.

“Yes, God, please, Matt,” Foggy managed.

“Well…” And Foggy didn’t like that tone. “I should clean myself up first.” Matt climbed off the bed, and Foggy let forth a stream of begging that he wasn’t sure was actually made up of words. Matt opened the drawer in the bedside table, and leaned over Foggy for another kiss. “Don’t worry, sweetheart.” He reached over to the discarded bottle of lube, and Foggy saw that he was holding a butt plug. He whimpered a little as Matt spread lube on the plug and pushed it into Foggy’s ass, then pressed a kiss to Foggy’s hip. The hand holding the plug shifted, and Foggy heard a click before the plug started vibrating. He arched off the bed in surprise, gasping, and Matt laughed. “You just enjoy yourself, I’ll be back.”

There was no part of Foggy that had any capacity to be objective at this moment, so, in his opinion, he lay there, tied to the bed with the vibrator inside him, for approximately forever. He shifted on the bed, not sure if he wanted to be tighter around the plug or not, and cried out when the plug pressed closer on his prostate. He tried moving again, but nothing he could do would tip him over the edge. 

Then Matt reappeared, crawling on top of Foggy, kissing him.

“You make the most delicious noises…” Matt murmured. “I could listen to you all night.” That sounded like a horrible idea, and Foggy panted out his very strong objections to that plan. “Not tonight, then,” Matt said, and started kissing a trail down Foggy’s chest, over his belly, until Matt was settled between his open legs. Matt grinned and traced his fingers down over Foggy’s balls to the plug, and clicked it again. Foggy whined as the plug began to pulse inside him, throwing his head back against the pillow, but he immediately looked down again when Matt licked the length of his cock. He watched Matt swallow his cock down, his mouth hot and wet around him. It didn’t take long for Foggy to come, he was teetering on the edge anyway, and the dual sensations of being swallowed and penetrated were enough to overload his entire body.

He was barely aware of Matt slipping his hands out of the cuffs, but he did moan when Matt pulled the now-still plug out of him. He curled on his side, and found Matt’s body there, wrapping warm arms around him.

“If you want to clean up,” Matt said after a little while, “the bathroom’s the next door over.”

Foggy mumbled something that might have been, “yeah” and dragged himself to the bathroom. Under the hot water, he tried to sort out exactly what he thought he was doing. He told himself that he was being completely logical, that he needed Matt to protect him, and for that, he needed Matt to like him. Want him.

He kept telling himself he had a plan, and that his own feelings didn’t factor into it.

Matt was asleep when he came back from the shower. There was an empty space on the bed next to him, and Foggy knew how easy it would be to climb in and let himself pretend this was a normal date, one that he’d chosen and wanted. Instead, he picked up his boxers from the floor and pulled them on. He was trying to figure out which pair of pants were his in the dim light when Matt sat up.

“You going?” Matt mumbled, and Foggy glanced over his shoulder at him. His hair was sticking up wildly, and without his glasses, he looked so young.

Foggy started pulling on the pants he’d decided were his.

“Am I allowed to go?” he said acidly.

“What? Yeah, of course, but…” Matt ran his hand through his hair. “You can stay. If you want.”

Foggy picked his shirt off the living room floor and pulled it on.

“I don’t,” he said.

Matt’s brow furrowed, and he climbed out of bed, stark naked, and approached Foggy slowly. Foggy didn’t back away. Matt pressed two fingers against Foggy’s chest, then tapped them quickly, and Foggy understood. Matt thought he was lying. Foggy wasn’t sure he was. Then Matt curled his hand around the side of Foggy’s neck and kissed Foggy.

“Stay,” he whispered. “Foggy…”

Foggy stepped back, out of Matt’s grasp.

“No,” he said, and he turned, picked up his coat and his shoes, and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone! May your 2017 be filled with joy, laughter, and delightful trash fics!


	6. Chapter 6

Foggy spent the days after he slept with Matt wondering if he’d over-played his hand. He avoided Matt, making himself scarce, then immediately second-guessed himself. Did he really think he was that tempting? Did he really think he’d been that good that Matt would come after him?

It occurred to him, while he was on his knees in his office with Frank’s cock in his mouth, that if Matt wanted to get laid, Frank was right there. And, objectively, Frank was ripped and rugged, and a lot more attractive than Foggy.

Shit, shit, shit…

Lying in bed, he decided that he’d bring Matt coffee in the morning. Tell him some story about it being more intense than he was used to. Tell him he’d found it overwhelming and confusing. All of which was true.

It was a good plan, but he never got to put it into effect, because of the tapping on the window above his bed.

Foggy sat up and pushed the slats of the blinds down to see a figure in black perched on his fire escape. A gloved hand waved in his direction. Foggy pulled up the blinds and opened the window.

“I have a front door,” he said. “You might remember it. You kicked it in.”

“Didn’t want anyone to see me,” Matt said. He wasn’t wearing a mask or his glasses, and Foggy again marvelled at how young he looked without them.

“Am I being watched?”

Matt shook his head. “Just…I just wanted to talk to you.”

Foggy debated having the conversation over the window sill, leaving Matt out in the cold.

“OK, you can come in,” he said instead, but caught himself as he backed away from the window. “No boots on the bed.”

Matt stopped, and started to untie his boots. He climbed through in his socked feet, leaving the boots on the sill. Foggy considered how much less badass socks were than boots, then caught a glimpse of a knife strapped to Matt’s ankle, under his pants cuff. He thought of blood under Matt’s fingernails, and a sword in Matt’s apartment, and told himself to never forget how dangerous this man could be. He pulled on his robe, just to feel less vulnerable.

“What’d you want to talk to me about?” he said, standing across from Matt.

“I…” Matt sat down on the bed. “Why did you leave? Did I do something wrong?”

For a moment, Foggy just stared at Matt. There were so many answers to that question, all of which boiled down to “yes,” and he couldn’t say any of them.

“Oh, fuck,” Foggy said, for want of anything else to say.

“I just…I can make it up to you. If you’ll let me. Please, Foggy, I…” Matt started to stand up, then sat back down, clutching the duvet in his hand.

“You what?”

“I want…” Matt rubbed his hand across his face. “I don’t know. But whatever…that night was…I know…it felt good for you, right?”

“Yeah,” Foggy admitted.

“Then…can we…have that?”

It was almost absurd, this black-clad, terrifying criminal, fidgeting with Foggy’s duvet and looking like he’d just screwed up all his courage to ask Foggy to prom. No, it was absolutely absurd, but for the first time in months, Foggy suddenly felt like he’d wrenched some control of his life back from Wesley.

“I’d like that,” Foggy said.

And Matt smiled. That smile. Foggy wondered if Matt knew how devastating that smile could be.

He crossed the room as Matt stood up, and their mouths met. Matt pulled him down onto the bed, and spread him out flat on his stomach, fucking him pressed against his back.

Later, lying with Matt wrapped around him, he remembered Wesley’s threat.

“What about Wesley?” he whispered.

“Don’t worry about him,” Matt said, brushing a hand over his skin. “I won’t tell him if you won’t.”

“He knew about Marci.”

“Only because somebody heard her ask you out in the L & Z lobby.” Matt kissed Foggy’s chest. “You could have been having an orgy in here every night, Wesley wouldn’t have known.”

“What if he does find out?”

Matt sighed and cupped Foggy’s face with his hand. “I’ll take care of it. Fisk will listen to me.”

Foggy thought of one of the many things he didn’t know about Matt.

“Why are you working for him?” he said.

Matt shrugged and rolled onto his back. “Long story.”

“I got time.” Foggy tucked his head into the hollow of Matt’s shoulder, trying to sweeten the deal. Matt wrapped his arm around Foggy’s shoulders.

“It’s…complicated. Not that I don’t want to tell you, but it’s really…complicated.”

“So start at the beginning.”

“You know what I am. What I can do.” There was no shame in Matt’s voice, no regret.

“You’re an assassin.” It wasn’t really a guess, just a statement of fact.

“Yeah. The people who raised me, taught me…Fisk knew them. He worked with them, in Japan, and I met him a few times. But they sent me to find this girl…They wanted me to bring her back to them, but she was…different. Incredible.”

“You fell for her.”

Matt shrugged. “As much as people like us can.” Foggy felt him turn his head and kiss the top of Foggy’s head. “So we ran, but they were always just a few steps behind us. Eventually, we wound up in New York, and they were right on our tail, and I heard Fisk was here, and I took a chance. Offered to work for him if he’d convince them to leave us alone.”

“And it worked.”

“Yeah.”

“So where’s she now?”

“Around. She didn’t want to be tied down, and I couldn’t leave, and…it didn’t work out.” Matt shrugged again. “She stops by when she’s in town. You should meet her. She’d like you.”

“She wouldn’t mind…you know, me and you?”

“Nah. She’d probably like it.” There was something in that tone, then Matt turned and crawled on top of Foggy, nuzzling at Foggy’s skin. Foggy decided to file the thought away for later, and let Matt take what he wanted. It was distracting enough that Foggy forgot what his next thought had been, which was “what about Frank?”

The next morning, Foggy regretted not asking that question. He watched Frank follow Fisk through the offices, and Frank glanced at him, not a greeting, but an assessment, and Foggy wondered how much Matt would tell him.

He asked Matt that evening, when they were drinking beer on Matt’s couch. Matt hesitated.

“I trust Frank,” he said, avoiding the question.

“That’s not what I asked.” Foggy took a drink. “Are you two…like, together?”

“We fuck,” Matt said bluntly. “And we have each other’s backs. Even against Wesley…especially against Wesley, actually.”

“Matt -“

“I’m not gonna lie to him.” Matt grinned and slid over to Foggy, his hand firm between Foggy’s legs. “And he likes your blowjobs,” Matt whispered against Foggy’s ear before nipping at the lobe. “You’re so good to us, Foggy…”

He guided Foggy’s head down to his lap, and Foggy obediently opened his mouth for Matt’s semi-hard cock. He felt Matt stiffen in his mouth, then Matt was pulling him up by his hair, kissing him. Foggy noted that Matt seemed to like tasting himself in Foggy’s mouth.

“My good boy…” Matt whispered, pulling Foggy up and towards the bedroom.

It didn’t take long for their clothes to come off, and for Matt to produce the cuffs. Foggy’s wrists were each tied to a corner of the bed, then Matt proceeded to lavish his skin with attention from his lips and tongue and hands before straddling Foggy’s face and pushing his cock into Foggy’s mouth. Foggy struggled a little to take it all in, then the angle shifted as Matt bent forward, his head now just above Foggy’s own cock. He could feel Matt’s breath against his wet cock, and he made a noise around Matt that he hoped conveyed his desire, his need, then Matt licked at him and swallowed him.

Matt came first, filling Foggy’s mouth, and he climbed off, leaving Foggy still hard and desperate. Foggy had a moment of panic where he thought Matt would repeat the trick he’d played the first time he’d tied Foggy to the bed, but instead, Matt slicked up his fingers, and stroked Foggy’s hole with one hand while the other pumped Foggy’s cock. Foggy came all over Matt’s hand, and Matt delicately licked his fingers before he wiped them clean.

He made sure Foggy left early enough that there wouldn’t be any suspicion at work.

For three weeks, the arrangement held, with no indication that anyone was aware of what they were doing, and Foggy almost allowed himself to think he was one step closer to safe. He still had his duties to perform, however and whenever Wesley decided, but he liked the way Matt would wrinkle his nose or frown whenever he smelled someone else on Foggy.

“I’ll find a way to talk Fisk out of it,” he whispered to Foggy, holding him from behind, his bare chest pressed against Foggy’s back. “You’re mine.”

And Foggy smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

It was a disaster.

Matt told Foggy he’d bring up the subject of Foggy to Fisk, and came back from the meeting tight-lipped and angry. The next day, he called Foggy.

“I’m at the airport,” he said.

“What? Why?”

“Wesley sent me on a job. To Milwaukee.”

“What the hell’s in Milwaukee?”

“Fucked if I know. I don’t know how long I’m going to be gone.” He sighed. “Watch out for yourself, Foggy.”

He was gone for a week and a half. Completely coincidentally, in that time, Wesley sent Foggy out every day. Three times, Foggy had both an appointment during the day, and in the evening.

The Russians were the worst. Foggy knew from Donovan that Fisk was helping them expand their business, and apparently it was stressful enough that Wesley sent Foggy to them twice to placate them. The brothers liked taking turns. One of them liked putting his hands around Foggy’s throat.

He curled up in bed, drinking tea with honey in an attempt to soothe his throat. The thought that he’d have to suck another cock tomorrow made his swollen throat throb, but Wesley didn’t seem to care about petty inconveniences like that.

The knocking on the window pulled him out of his misery, and he hated that his heart actually seemed to swell in his chest when he glanced out to see Matt crouched on the fire escape. He pulled up the window, and Matt held up his shoes in one hand.

“I’ll keep them off the bed,” Matt said, grinning.

“You better,” Foggy croaked, but Matt may not have heard him, because he was already halfway through the window and kissing Foggy. Foggy heard the shoes drop to the floor, and felt Matt pull the mug out of his hands and put it on the bedside table.

“God, I almost jerked off on the flight back, just thinking what I’d do to you,” Matt said, pulling Foggy’s t-shirt off him. “I came straight from the airport.”

Foggy glanced over, and saw the small overnight bag still sitting on the fire escape.

“You can bring that inside,” he said. Matt sat back and frowned.

“You OK?” he said. He leaned back to reach through the open window and pulled the bag through, shutting the window. “You sound hoarse.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.” Matt leaned in and sniffed. “You’re not sick.”

“Just a sore throat.”

Matt was still frowning, and Foggy had just spent the last ten days being fucked however someone else wanted it, so sex was the last thing that would make him feel better. But it was the only currency he had.

“I’m just glad you’re back,” he said. It wasn’t a lie.

Matt kissed him at that, and pushed him onto his back. He unbuttoned Matt’s shirt, because the sight of Matt’s abs did actually make him feel better. He groaned a little when Matt pulled his pants off and spread his legs; the muscles on the inside of his thighs were still sore from being held open. Matt grinned, misinterpreting the sound, and reached into the bedside table for the lube. When his wet finger brushed Foggy’s hole, Foggy couldn’t help wincing.

Matt froze.

“Did that hurt?” he said, low and calm.

“Yeah.” There was no point in lying, anyway.

Matt sat back, wiping his fingers on the sheets absently. “What happened?”

Foggy rolled onto his side, pulling his legs in and curling into a ball. “Nothing. The usual.”

Matt reached out and his hand slipped around Foggy’s throat, gently brushing over the bruises.

“Van Lunt do these, too?”

“It wasn’t Van Lunt,” Foggy said.

“Who?”

“Matt -“

“Just tell me.” Matt’s tone hadn’t wavered through the whole exchange, cool and detached.

“It was the Russians, OK?”

“He gave you to those assholes?!” Matt didn’t explode, not quite, but Foggy flinched anyway. “Jesus Christ -“ He slammed a fist against the wall, powder trickling down from the dent in the drywall. “I’m going to go talk -“

“No, don’t. Please, don’t.” Foggy grabbed a hold of Matt’s arm before he could climb off the bed. “This is what happens when you go to Fisk, OK? Please don’t mention it to him.”

Matt turned and held him by the shoulders.

“Fisk knew about this? Are you sure?”

Foggy nodded. “I just nodded. Wesley said that Fisk wanted the Russians kept happy. And that he was pleased with how well I’d done that the first time,” he said bitterly.

“The first -“ Matt’s hand curled around Foggy’s neck and he found himself pulled close. “How many times?”

“Just twice.”

Matt swore and tightened his arms around Foggy.

“I’m going to take care of this,” he said. “I’ll take care of you.”

“I know,” Foggy said.

But Matt never mentioned it again. Not for the next few weeks, as things shifted around Foggy again. Wesley stopped piling assignments onto Foggy, apparently satisfied that he’d been punished enough. Matt and Foggy tried to be especially discreet, but Foggy wasn’t convinced that discretion should go so far as Matt hooking up with Frank again.

Matt didn’t even bother hiding it, when it happened. The bite mark on his neck was bright red, just above his collar.

Foggy knew he shouldn’t be jealous. He wasn’t jealous, he tried to argue with himself, he was genuinely afraid that if Matt left him, he was completely vulnerable and exposed to Wesley’s whims. And bringing it up with Matt might drive Matt further away. Then there was the look that Frank would give him, as if he were about to eat Foggy alive, that made Foggy feel like he was pinned to the wall. It was enough to drive him crazy, and made him go through alcohol like it was going out of style.

It also led to mental conundrums like, “what do you call the guy whose cock you have to suck who is also fucking the guy who is fucking you?” Which, really, just gave him a headache.

So he was relieved, to say the least, when Matt pushed him against the wall on a Friday night and snarled in his ear that he was going to fuck Foggy all weekend long.

They hadn’t had a night together all week. Wesley, by accident or design, had arranged it so that one or both of them had assignments at night, but somehow, miraculously, the weekend was theirs, and Matt was very definite that they were not leaving his apartment.

“Been thinking about this all day…” Matt said, pulling Foggy’s clothes off and pushing him onto the bed. He reached under each side of the bed, pulling the cuffs up at all four corners. Foggy shivered. “Lie down, sweetheart.”

Foggy lay on his back and let Matt push a pillow under his ass, then buckle him into the cuffs. Matt ran his hands over Foggy’s body, claiming the territory as his.

“Thought we’d start slow tonight,” he said, leaning down to blow a puff of cool air over Foggy’s hole. Foggy twitched, pulling at the cuffs. “Since we’ve got all weekend…”

“What - what are you thinking?” Foggy said, trying to sound calm.

Matt grinned, and his tongue darted out, snake-like, to lick the tip of Foggy’s cock.

“You’ll see.”

He slicked up Foggy’s hole, not opening him up too much, then reached down to pull out the drawer he kept under the bed with all his toys. Foggy’s eyes widened when he held up a shaft of anal beads, five of them in a row, each bigger than the last. Matt spread lube on them with slow strokes, and Foggy knew he was teasing him, mimicking the movements he liked to use on Foggy’s cock, and Foggy forced himself not to beg for Matt’s hand. Then Matt leaned over him, licking again at Foggy’s hard cock.

“You ready, sweetheart?”

Foggy managed a high-pitched “mm-hmm”, and Matt slid the first bead in. It went in easily; it was slick, and no thicker than Matt’s finger.

“Good,” Matt murmured, kissing Foggy’s thigh. “You’re so good for me.” He pushed, and the second bead slid in, Foggy feeling tighter around it, and he whimpered a little when the largest part pressed his rim open. “Another one.” This one took more pressure, and Foggy gasped when one of the beads slid to rest against his prostate. Matt gave the beads a tiny tug, and Foggy felt them move against his prostate and rim, and whined helplessly. “That’s it, let me hear you, sweetheart,” Matt said, climbing up to kiss Foggy before -

“Wesley. Wesley. Wesley,” Matt’s phone announced from the bedside table.

“Fucking - what the fuck does he want?” Matt grumbled. He reached over to pick up the phone, but stopped before picking up the call. “You OK for a minute?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” As much as being tied up, spread-eagled with three beads in his ass could qualify as “fine.”

Matt climbed off the bed and took the phone into the living room. Foggy tried to concentrate on breathing deep, and not on the beads in his ass. He stared at the ceiling, the exposed beams. Idly, he wondered if Matt wanted to try hanging the cuffs from one of the beams. He shifted when the thought made him even more turned on (and thought that it probably shouldn’t), and felt the beads move inside him.

Matt stormed back in, dropping the phone on the bedside table angrily.

“Wesley needs me to go out on a job,” he growled. “It’s fucking _Friday_ …” He climbed back onto the bed, and Foggy thought for a moment that Matt was going to ignore Wesley’s orders and pick up where he left off, but Matt just put a steadying hand on his thigh.

“Gonna pull these out - deep breath.” Foggy took a deep breath and Matt pulled the beads out quickly, making Foggy yelp. “Sorry,” Matt mumbled. He unbuckled the cuffs, and Foggy sat up and watched him get dressed.

“Guess I should go home,” Foggy said, as Matt pulled on his black shirt. 

“You could stay,” Matt said. “I’ll only be gone for a few hours.” He crossed to where Foggy was sitting and leaned over to kiss him. “Help yourself to anything in the fridge. There’s wine in the rack, too, if you want.” He slid his hand down to Foggy’s still semi-erect cock. “I’ll think of something special for when I get back.”

Then the mask was tied over his face and the sword slung onto his back, and he was gone.

Three hours, a shower, most of a bottle of wine, and God-knows-how-many levels of Candy Crush later, Foggy decided that Matt could damn well wake him up when he got back, and went back to bed. He slept naked, because that was what Matt liked.

He never heard them come down the stairs; both of them were too well-trained. He only woke up when Matt’s lips pressed against his shoulder.

“Wake up, sweetheart, Frank’s here.”

Fuzzy from sleep, Foggy didn’t quite grasp that there was a third person in the room, until he opened his eyes to see Frank Castle standing at the end of the bed.

“What’s going on?” he slurred, still sleepy.

“We just finished the job,” Matt said, stroking Foggy’s hair. “And I promised you something special, didn’t I?”

The realization jolted Foggy completely awake, and Matt grinned and kissed him. He pulled back, wrinkling his nose.

“You’re going to have to brush your teeth, though,” he said.

Foggy hesitated, not wanting to climb out of bed naked in front of Frank, but Matt just leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Don’t be shy, sweetheart.”

Foggy got out of bed, not looking at Frank, but feeling his eyes burning on his skin. As he brushed his teeth, he tried to take deep, calming breaths and not think of the last time two men had shared him. It wasn’t as if he had a choice; he hadn’t said no to Matt up to this point, and, if he were being honest with himself, he was afraid of what might happen if he did.

Frank and Matt couldn’t be worse than the Russians. Matt, at least, wouldn’t let Frank hurt him.

He splashed water on his face and looked at himself in the mirror (splattered with water stains, since he was sure Matt had never cleaned it). The expression in his eyes was tired and worn down. Hard, even. He’d seen enough, done enough. He could handle this.

Frank and Matt were shirtless and making out on the bed when he came back to the bedroom, Matt straddling Frank’s lap. Matt broke away and grinned over his shoulder when Foggy stepped into the room.

“Come here, sweetheart,” he said, climbing off Frank and holding out his hand. Foggy let him reel him in, kissing him and sliding his hands down to Foggy’s ass. He turned Foggy around so he was facing Frank, kissing Foggy’s shoulder. “I’ve been telling Frank he’s been missing out on fucking you,” he whispered in Foggy’s ear.

“Got no need to fuck anyone else when you’re around, Red,” Frank said, leaning back against the pillows. “His mouth’s fine for me.”

“You see what I have to deal with?” Matt said. “I think we need to show him what he’s missing.” His hand slid down to Foggy’s ass, fingertip just brushing against Foggy’s hole, and Foggy’s breath hitched. “What do you say, sweetheart?” His other hand turned Foggy’s head so he could kiss him.

“OK,” Foggy said. 

Matt smiled. “That’s my good boy. Get on the bed.”

Frank spread his legs so that Foggy had to kneel between them, bending over on all fours, his head bare inches away from the bulge in Frank’s pants. Frank didn’t make any move to touch either himself or Foggy, just watched with narrowed eyes and a tiny quirk at the corner of his mouth. Foggy felt the mattress shift as Matt settled behind him, then Matt’s hands on his thighs, spreading him wider. Then a slick finger in his hole. He looked up at Frank’s face and met his gaze. Matt’s second finger slid inside him, and he couldn’t hold back the little gasp, and he saw Frank’s lips twitch. He dropped his eyes to the bed, to Frank’s crotch in front of him. Matt’s fingers found his prostate, and he cried out.

“See?” Matt said. “He doesn’t sound like that when he’s sucking your cock.” He stroked Foggy’s prostate again, eliciting another moan. “You should hear him beg, he’s always so sweet.”

“You just like having your ego stroked,” Frank said as the third finger started to stretch Foggy’s hole.

“I get more than that stroked,” Matt said. Foggy felt him lean down and kiss Foggy’s hip. “You’re always so good for me.” He fingered Foggy’s ass a little longer, until Foggy was panting and moaning. Frank reached out and ran a fingertip along Foggy’s lip, then pushed it into his mouth. Foggy licked it and tasted gunpowder.

“You ever make him come like this?” Frank said.

“Not yet.” Matt’s other hand was on Foggy’s back, stroking along his spine. “Might be fun to try.” Then his hands were gone, and Foggy pressed his forehead to the bed, breathing hard. He felt Frank get up off the bed, then heard his voice behind him.

“Hell of a show, Red,” Frank said.

“Just a warmup,” Matt said. He stroked across Foggy’s ass and down his thigh. “Go ahead.”

There was a sound of wet kissing, then a zipper, and a condom wrapper opening, then Foggy felt the pressure of a hard cock pushing inside him. A hand, Matt’s, he was sure, stroked his back. Frank swore as his cock pushed deeper in.

“Told you,” Matt said, his thumb making little circles on Foggy’s back. 

Foggy whimpered when Frank was fully buried inside him, and Frank swore more as he started to thrust. Matt’s hand stroked Foggy’s cheek as he moaned with every movement, shouting out when Frank’s cock grazed his prostate. Matt chuckled whenever that happened, and pushed his thumb between Foggy’s lips.

“Hold him steady,” Matt said, and Frank grabbed the back of Foggy’s hair, pulling his head up. Matt was kneeling on the bed in front of him, unzipping his pants, and Frank changed his movements to a rolling thrust, holding Foggy still, suspended between Frank’s cock in his ass and Frank’s hand in his hair. Foggy let out a long moan, his mouth hanging open, and Matt reached out, his thumb on Foggy’s lower lip. His other hand held his hard cock, and he guided the tip into Foggy’s open mouth, then changed his grip so he was holding Foggy’s hair. Frank’s hand dropped away as Matt pushed into Foggy’s mouth, groaning about how good Foggy was. A hard thrust from Frank pushed Foggy forward, almost making him choke on Matt’s cock, and then they were working together against him, sometimes thrusting together, sometimes forcing Foggy back and forth on their cocks, and Foggy had tears running down his face, but he couldn’t have said why. Frank’s hand reached around to stroke his aching cock, and he came quickly, clenching around Frank, his shout muffled by Matt’s cock. Both of them groaned, and kept fucking Foggy until they were the only things still holding him up on his hands and knees. Matt came first, but Frank wasn’t far behind, and Foggy collapsed face first onto the bed as soon as they pulled out of him.

He was vaguely aware of Matt cleaning him up, and he curled into the warmth of Matt’s body as Matt lay beside him.

“Guess I should go,” Frank said, and Foggy opened his eyes enough to see Frank pulling on his shirt.

“You should stay,” Matt said.

“Told you, Red, I don’t do cuddling.” Frank waved a hand at the two of them on the bed. “You seem to have that covered, anyway.”

“I didn’t mean cuddling,” Matt said, and there was something in his tone, sharp and cool, nothing teasing or seductive about it.

“What, you want to go another round? Don’t think your boy can take it.”

Matt chuckled. “That would be fun, but no.” He sat up, dislodging Foggy enough that Foggy had to sit up as well. “I have a proposition for you. That doesn’t involve sex.” He reached out and stroked Foggy’s hair. “For both of you.”


	8. Chapter 8

The proposition was simple: Matt wanted to kill Fisk.

Well, not just Fisk. Wesley, too, for starters.

They were sitting in Matt’s living room, dressed again. Foggy glanced from Matt to Frank; Matt looked as cool and composed as ever, while Frank only looked mildly curious.

“And then what?” Frank said.

“And then we take what’s Fisk’s,” Matt said.

Frank narrowed his eyes at Matt. “Not easy, running a business like his,” he said.

“I know. That’s why I need you two with me.”

Frank chuckled and leaned back with his arms crossed.

“And here I thought you just missed my dick,” he said, smirking.

“Needed to know where you’d stand,” Matt shot back.

Frank regarded Matt. “You know my terms.”

“I’ll guarantee Lisa’s coverage,” Matt said without prompting. “And I’ll throw in the tuition for that school Maria liked.”

Frank huffed a little, then shrugged. “I’m in.”

“Foggy?” Matt said.

“No,” Foggy said.

Matt looked like he’d been slapped. “What?”

“No. I don’t - I can’t -“ Foggy had spent so long hiding his feelings, it was hard to put them into words. “I don’t want to be part of this!” he exploded.

“I’m doing this for you,” Matt said, looking genuinely confused.

“This isn’t what I want!” Foggy found himself on his feet, pacing. “I want out, Matt! I want to get as far away as I can from this! I don’t want to get dragged in deeper!”

And Matt was there, catching him by his shoulders.

“You think you could ever get away from Fisk?” Matt said. “Killing him is the only way.”

“And then what? I start sucking cock for you instead?”

“I would never do that to you.”

“I can’t hear your heart, Matt, I don’t know if you’re lying,” Foggy snapped.

Matt recoiled.

“You know I’m not,” he said.

“How? How do I know that?”

Matt stepped in, his hand cupping Foggy’s cheek, his blind eyes level with Foggy’s, even if they could never meet his gaze.

“Because you’re mine,” he said. “And I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.”

For a moment, Foggy was tempted to lean into Matt, melt into his arms and believe that everything would be all right. Instead, he stepped back.

“Foggy -“

“I just - this is big, OK? I’ve never - Jesus Christ, you’re acting like we’re the Praetorian Guard about to kill Caligula, and I’m not - I’m not like you.” Matt made a movement to reach out, but Foggy held up a hand. “No, just - I’m going home. I need to be on my own right now.”

Matt nodded.

“Give me a call,” he said. “When you’re…when you’re ready.”

“Yeah.”

At home, he slept only fitfully, dreaming of being dragged from his bed by Fisk and Wesley, forced to watch Matt and Frank die, before being locked in a cage. When he was awake, he brooded on Matt’s plan. Matt was right, he had to admit. As long as Fisk was alive, there was no escape for Foggy. And there was only one alternative being offered: a life at Matt’s side. 

In the morning, he bought fresh bagels and climbed the stairs to Matt’s apartment. Matt wrenched the door open before he even knocked.

“I could smell the bagels three floors away,” Matt said.

Foggy closed the door behind him.

“One condition,” he said.

“Name it,” Matt said.

“The Russians. When Fisk goes, they go too.” He took a deep breath, and told himself it wasn’t revenge, it was justice. “They’re human traffickers, we all know that. So anyone they’ve kidnapped goes free. And we never touch the sex trade ever again.”

“Done,” Matt said. Foggy looked at Matt, searching for any hesitation, any indication of reservations, and found none.

He wasn’t powerless when he was with Matt. And that meant something.

“OK,” Foggy said, and Matt smiled. That smile could break a heart.

Foggy stepped forward and kissed Matt. For a moment, Matt didn’t move, then his hands gently drifted to Foggy’s waist, almost hesitant. Foggy tightened his arms around Matt, and Matt responded, pressing up against Foggy before breaking the kiss, leaning his forehead against Foggy’s.

“I missed you,” Matt said.

“I was gone for six hours,” Foggy pointed out.

“Yeah.” Matt darted in for a quick kiss. “I missed sleeping with you - actually sleeping, I mean. I missed hearing your heartbeat…” His hands slid under Foggy’s shirt, touching his skin. “I missed having you next to me.”

“I’m here now,” Foggy said, letting his hand slide up and run through the short hair at the back of Matt’s neck.

Matt smiled and took the bag of bagels out of Foggy’s hand, then led Foggy by the hand through the apartment. He dropped the bag on the coffee table as they passed it, barely pausing on the way to the bedroom. Foggy sat on the edge of the bed, and Matt knelt down to pull his shoes off, before climbing onto Foggy’s lap to unbutton his shirt. Foggy pulled Matt’s t-shirt up and off him, running his hands over the muscles of Matt’s back, sliding his hands into Matt’s sweatpants to grip Matt’s ass. Matt grinned.

“You know what?” he said, in that tone that Foggy had learned to love and dread. “I think we need to change things up a bit.”

“Like what?”

But Matt didn’t answer, just went to work pulling Foggy’s pants off, then his own, then maneuvering Foggy so he was lying on his back. Matt leaned over to where the bottle of lube was still on the bedside table, and poured a little on his fingers. Foggy started to spread his legs, but Matt put his dry hand on his knee.

“Don’t worry about that,” he said, and Foggy watched as Matt reached behind and started fingering himself. He was beautiful, back arched and head thrown back, lean and strong and powerful. Foggy wasn’t sure what tumbled out of his mouth in admiration, and he started stroking himself, drunk on the sight.

Matt didn’t spend much time opening himself up before he wiped off his fingers and opened up a condom wrapper. He leaned down to kiss Foggy, then popped the condom into his mouth. Foggy uttered some sort of profanity as Matt slid down and pushed the condom over his hard dick, unrolling it with his tongue and lips. Then Matt grinned, sitting up and straddling Foggy’s hips, holding Foggy’s cock steady before he sank down on it with a groan. Foggy moaned at the sudden heat and pressure, Matt tight around him, and tried to grind his hips up into Matt, but Matt was still in control, even with Foggy inside him, and Matt rode up and down, gasping about how good Foggy felt. He started stroking himself just as Foggy felt himself getting close, and Matt seemed to have it timed precisely so they came at the same time, Foggy being tipped over when Matt clenched around him.

Foggy didn’t know how long they lay tangled together, Matt’s fingertips stroking his face, but he did become aware of Matt’s come drying on his belly, which was a less pleasant sensation. He dragged himself to the shower, and emerged to find Matt in the kitchen, phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder as he spread cream cheese on the bagels.

“…we take out the Russians, we’re going to need another body,” he was saying. He paused, listening. “Yeah, I was thinking that too. I’ll give her a call.” He laughed. “Well, the benefit’s next week. I’m thinking we should wait until after. Might as well let Fisk do all the glad-handing and get all the money lined up. Gives Elektra time to get here, too.” He paused. “Exactly. We can work out the logistics when she gets here.” He paused again. “I should go, breakfast is ready. Yeah, you too.”

He pressed a button on the phone and put it down.

“Frank?” Foggy said.

“Yeah.” Matt put the plate of bagels on the kitchen table, and they sat to eat.

“Who’s Lisa?” Foggy said, around a mouthful of bagel.

“Hm?” 

“Frank’s terms were coverage for Lisa. Who is she?”

“His daughter.” Matt chewed his bagel slowly. “She’s in a wheelchair, has a lot of medical expenses. Frank…” Matt put down the bagel. “They were in Central Park, the whole family, and there was a shootout. Frank’s family got caught in the crossfire, and Lisa took one to her spine. Frank’s other kid wasn’t as lucky.” Matt paused. “Fisk sent me to make Frank an offer. I’d help him take out the people responsible if Frank would come work for Fisk after.”

“He took it.”

“Of course.” Matt picked up the bagel again, and took a bite, trying to look casual. “You might have noticed, but Fisk likes collecting people. You, me, Frank, we’re all just bodies for him to use.”

“What about Wesley?”

“I think Wesley’s the only person he actually cares about. Him, and Vanessa.”

“Who’s Vanessa?”

“Fisk’s girlfriend.”

“Oh.” Foggy tried to imagine Fisk being affectionate to anyone, and failed.

“These are really good,” Matt said, subtly changing the subject.

They spent the rest of breakfast talking about food. Foggy asked about Matt’s sense of taste, and Matt elaborated at length about subtleties of flavor and texture until the bagels were finished. Then Foggy went to wash the plate, and Matt pressed up against his back, kissing his neck.

“You’re insatiable,” Foggy said.

“Maybe you’re just irresistible,” Matt said, sliding his hand over Foggy’s crotch. “And we’ve still got all weekend.” He spun Foggy around, pressing his ass against the counter, and kissed him hard. “And I want to see if I can make you come just from fingering your ass…”


	9. Chapter 9

Matt’s ringer, he explained, was his ex-girlfriend Elektra Natchios. Heiress, socialite, daughter of a Greek diplomat. Also an assassin and something called a Black Sky, which Matt declined to explain in too much detail, but which sounded like some weird combination of Messiah and superhero.

Matt laughed when Foggy pointed that out.

“She’s really not like that at all,” he said.

Elektra was a nomad, going wherever her job took her, or wherever seemed like a good idea at the time. When Matt got a hold of her, she was in Cambodia, “just finishing something up,” and said she could be in New York in two days. That gave Matt only a few days before Fisk’s Better Tomorrow benefit. They decided to stage the coup a few days after that.

Matt insisted on calling them the Praetorian Guard. Foggy didn’t find it amusing.

Matt and Frank already had the bare bones of the plan drawn out by the time Elektra arrived. They decided not to tell Foggy anything. Just in case.

The day Elektra’s plane landed, Matt and Frank planned to have dinner at her penthouse, to present the plan to her and get her input.

“You’ll get to meet her,” Matt said, “just - we have to work things out first.”

“Yeah,” Foggy said. “I mean, priorities, right?”

If he were being honest, Foggy was a little relieved to put off meeting Elektra. The way Matt talked about her, with a mixture of awe and fondness, made Foggy’s heart sink. He wasn’t sure if he was hoping she’d live up to Matt’s description or fall short of it.

He was debating pouring himself a drink to deal with the conundrum when his phone rang. Matt’s number appeared on the screen.

“Hey,” Foggy answered.

“Hey. So, we’re done with the business stuff, and just having a few drinks, and Elektra was wondering if you’d like to come up and meet her.”

“Oh.” Foggy was glad Matt couldn’t hear his heartbeat over the phone. “Yeah, sure that sounds great.” It wasn’t as if he had a good reason to say no.

“Great. I’ll get Frank to text you the address.”

The address was for a highrise on the Upper West Side, new and shiny with chrome and glass. The doorman stopped him until he said he was visiting Elektra Natchios, then smiled unctuously and waved Foggy into the elevator.

Matt opened the door on the first knock, and kissed Foggy in the doorway, the taste of Scotch on his lips. Inside, Foggy could hear a woman laughing.

“Come on,” Matt said, tugging Foggy by the hand. Foggy heard the low rumble of Frank’s voice, saying something about improvisation being important.

At the end of the entrance hall, the apartment opened up, a modern kitchen to the right and a living area to the left. Frank was sitting on a black leather couch, looking with amusement at the woman in the matching armchair.

She was draped across the chair, her legs hanging over the arm. Dressed in black, her feet bare, and a glass in her hand. She had the face of a model, high cheekbones and big dark eyes that were sparkling with laughter.

“‘Lektra, I want you to meet Franklin Nelson,” Matt said, his hand on Foggy’s back. “Foggy, this is Elektra.”

Elektra turned her eyes on him, and smiled, and Foggy thought of panthers and wolves. She swung her legs down and stood up, her movements elegant and perfectly controlled. Like Matt. Foggy remembered that they’d been on the run together, and wondered who in their right mind would want to tangle with the pair of them.

“Pleasure,” Elektra said, holding out her hand, which Foggy shook.

“All mine,” he said.

“Matthew,” she said, curling a hand over Matt’s shoulder, “why don’t you get Franklin something to drink? I’m sure you know what he’d like.” She spoke with an accent, somewhere between English and…French, maybe?

“‘Course,” Matt said, heading for the kitchen.

“Please, sit,” Elektra said, casually waving a hand towards Frank as she draped herself back over the armchair. “Matthew won’t tell me how you’re involved in this little endeavor.” She cocked her head. “Only that you’re the only other person who knows about it.”

“I…” Foggy glanced at Frank, who cleared his throat.

“He’s a non-combatant,” Frank said.

“I see,” Elektra said, filling two syllables with meaning.

“He’s going to help me run things,” Matt said, sliding onto the couch next to Foggy and holding out a glass of something amber. He sipped a matching glass. “I’m going to need him. He’s a smart one.”

“Yes, you’ll definitely need one of those,” Elektra said.

“I’m sitting right here,” Frank said.

“Don’t worry, I’ll call you when I need shit blown up,” Matt said.

Foggy took a sip of what turned out to be excellent Scotch, and looked up to see Elektra gazing at him.

“This is very nice,” he said. “What is it?”

“Macallan,” Elektra said. “I keep a bottle for Matthew. I take it you’re a Scotch drinker?”

“I’ll pretty much drink anything you put in front of me,” Foggy said, which made her smile widen. “But this is…very nice,” he finished lamely.

“Elektra’s poison is Mezcal,” Matt said, and Elektra raised her glass.

“I never could convince Matthew to acquire the taste.”

“Isn’t that the one with the worm in it?” Foggy said.

“Yes, and I can definitely taste it,” Matt said.

“He complains about it every time,” Elektra said.

“Really? You were fine drinking the eel booze at Josie’s,” Foggy said.

Frank snorted from Foggy’s other side, and Elektra rolled her eyes.

“He took you to that hole?” Elektra said.

“Hey, don’t you know that that’s Red’s A-game?” Frank said, making Elektra laugh. Frank nudged Foggy with his elbow. “Bet he told you he liked the sound of your voice, too.”

“Uh, no…” Foggy said, but Matt was already trying to defend himself.

“I don’t use that on everyone,” Matt said.

“Only the ones whose pants you’re trying to get into,” Frank said.

“It is your only line, darling,” Elektra said.

“I never used it on Foggy,” Matt said.

“Now I think I’m insulted,” Foggy said.

Matt wrapped his arm around Foggy’s shoulders and leaned in so his lips were brushing Foggy’s ear. “I love the sound of your voice,” he whispered, so low Foggy could barely make it out, but in a tone that sent a shiver down Foggy’s spine. Foggy turned his head, and Matt caught his mouth in a kiss, hot and tasting of Scotch. When Matt pulled away, Foggy glanced over to see Frank smirking and Elektra stretching like a cat.

“Showoff,” Frank said.

“Aren’t you boys adorable?” Elektra drawled. “Did you really bring him here just to put on a show?”

There was a pause, heavy and dangerous, and Foggy remembered that he was surrounded by three killers who were used to getting what they wanted. He should have been afraid. He wasn’t, not anymore.

Matt leaned in, his breath on Foggy’s ear.

“What do you say, sweetheart?” he whispered.

Foggy locked eyes with Elektra, who was looking at him as if she was expecting something from him. He knocked back the rest of the Scotch, keeping eye contact with her, and put the glass down on the coffee table. Then he looked at Frank, who looked away from Elektra to meet Foggy’s gaze.

“I think I’d like to see the rest of the penthouse,” he said, turning to Matt, who grinned.

“Good idea,” Matt said, kissing him.

“No, don’t get up,” Elektra said, standing up in one fluid movement. “You two finish your drinks, I’ll give Franklin the tour.” She offered Foggy her hand, which he took. “You can come after us when you’re done.”

Up the stairs from the living area was the loft-style bedroom; there were no walls, so Foggy could hear everything happening downstairs. He heard Frank chuckle.

“Smooth, Red,” Frank said dryly.

“Like you weren’t thinking it,” Matt shot back.

“Quite the pair, aren’t they?” Elektra said softly. “I always liked them together.” She gave Foggy a sidelong glance full of meaning, and a slow, sly smile. “Don’t you?”

“I, uh, I’m not sure -“

Elektra rolled her eyes. “Please. It’s written all over the two of them, if you know what you’re looking for.” She put the tip of her finger to Foggy’s breastbone. “They’re very fond of you.”

“Thank you?”

Elektra’s smile widened, as if what he’d said amused her. “Well, they did say you were adorable.” Her finger was drifting up towards his throat.

“And what do you think?”

“I think…there’s more to you than they’re giving you credit for.” 

She kissed him then, sudden and fierce, pulling his head down to crash into her mouth. He felt her nails on the back of his neck. She let him go and pushed him back, and he stumbled and sat on the edge of the bed. Elektra practically leapt onto him, straddling him and attacking his mouth with hers. He had the thought that this might be what mice feel like, when cats play with them before killing them. Her fingers tore at his shirt, her nails raking his back, and her teeth caught the skin on his neck. He yelped, and she sat back, laughing.

“Oh, you are adorable,” she cooed, running her thumb over the smarting skin where she’d bitten him.

He pushed his hands up, under her top, and she lifted her arms to let him peel it off her. She unhooked the practical black bra underneath, then pulled his face to her breasts, demanding his attention there. He lapped at a nipple with his tongue, and she tightened her grip on his hair, and growled, “Harder.” He sucked at it, and she still wanted more, until he closed his teeth around her nipple and made her gasp.

“He got you going?” came Frank’s voice, and Elektra let up on Foggy enough that he could glance up to see Frank standing behind her, gripping her by the hair and pulling her head back for a rough kiss.

“Not quite yet,” she said.

“They’ve been waiting for us,” Matt said, sliding onto the bed next to Foggy. He leaned in to kiss Foggy. “Haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” Foggy gasped.

Matt slipped around to kneel behind Foggy, his knees on either side of Foggy’s hips. He wrapped his arms around Foggy and kissed his shoulder, and Foggy watched Frank slide one hand down into Elektra’s leggings, still holding her by the hair as she moaned and squirmed on Foggy’s lap. Her weight was right on Foggy’s dick, and the friction of her movements were having a very noticeable effect. She reached back and grabbed Frank’s jaw, dragging a kiss out of him as her hips ground against his hand and Foggy’s cock.

When she let him go, Frank grinned and released her hair, pulling his hand out of her leggings. The hand in her hair drifted down to her shoulder, and he leaned forward, his chest against her back, and brought his wet fingers to Foggy’s mouth. Matt had his nose pressed against the back of Foggy’s neck, his fingers buried in Foggy’s hair, and Foggy met Elektra’s sharp eyes as Frank pushed his fingers into Foggy’s mouth. He tasted salt and musk, a bitter note underneath, and he sucked on Frank’s fingers as Elektra smiled.

“You two are wearing far too many clothes,” Elektra said as Frank pulled his fingers out of Foggy’s mouth. Matt laughed against Foggy’s shoulder. “Come on.”

“I’m not a piece of meat,” Matt said, leaning over Foggy’s shoulder to meet Elektra in a kiss.

“Shut up and show me that arse,” Elektra retorted, and Matt sat back. Foggy saw his shirt fly past him onto the floor.

Frank laughed as he stripped off his henley. Elektra rolled off of Foggy’s lap and pulled down her leggings and underwear, then glanced at him.

“You too,” she said, and Foggy fumbled for his belt, but Frank, now naked, just grinned and pushed him onto his back, and tugged Foggy’s pants and boxers down and off while Elektra slid her hand down his chest and started to stroke his cock. Matt leaned over Foggy’s body to kiss Elektra, then there was a sharp slap, and Frank was next to Matt, stealing him away from Elektra. Foggy lay between the three of them, watching them grapple with each other, rough and hard. Predators, all of them.

“So what exactly did you have in mind?” Frank said, looking at Elektra while he stroked Matt’s cock. Elektra was pressing Foggy’s fingers inside her.

“Well - mmm - I’m not about to turn down three cocks,” she said.

“Oh, God, yes,” Matt moaned.

“Was that for Frank, or was that for me?” Elektra said.

“Both.”

They all laughed at that, and Frank let Matt go to get the condoms. Elektra pushed Foggy onto his back and rolled the condom onto him herself, before mounting him. She rode him slowly, and Foggy looked past her to see Frank and Matt making out, Frank’s cock sheathed in latex. Matt leaned up and whispered something in Frank’s ear that made Frank chuckle, then stare at Elektra and Foggy hungrily.

“Are you two lost?” Elektra demanded.

“Coming, sweetheart,” Matt said, kissing her. He tossed Frank the bottle of lube as he came around to Elektra’s front, stretching out on the bed beside Foggy and kissing him languidly. Foggy sucked in a breath as he felt Elektra writhe on him, and looked up to see Frank with one arm wrapped around her chest, holding her upright, the other hand hidden behind her. Elektra had her eyes closed, and she moaned enthusiastically. Foggy thought he could feel…no, he must be imagining it. Then Matt pulled him back for another kiss, and he was only aware of Elektra’s heat and Matt’s mouth.

“Now,” Elektra ordered, and Frank didn’t need telling twice. Foggy did feel it as Frank pushed in, the movement and the pressure building inside Elektra’s body. He moaned into Matt’s mouth, and felt Matt grin.

“That feel good?” Matt whispered, and Foggy could only stammer out something in the affirmative. 

Matt pulled away, and Foggy stared at Elektra, all hunger and lust and power, her eyes glinting with ferocity. Then Matt was blocking his view, straddling his chest, and Foggy saw a fall of black hair over his thigh, and Elektra’s moans were suddenly muffled. Frank swore proficiently, and Matt said Elektra’s name, long and drawn out. Then, suddenly, Elektra’s body tightened like a whip crack, and she shouted out. Foggy felt Frank stop moving, and then felt some of the pressure relieved as Frank pulled out. Matt climbed off his chest, and Elektra eased herself off Foggy, smiling like a cat. She stretched on the sheets, and Matt leaned over her, stroking her cheek.

“Happy, sweetheart?” he whispered.

“Very,” she said.

“You just gonna leave us hanging?” Frank said, making to swat her ass, but she grabbed his wrist, lightning-fast.

“You boys can entertain yourselves, I’m sure,” she said. She opened her eyes, meeting Foggy’s gaze, and smiled. “Yes, I think I want to see that.” She rolled onto her side, arching her back.

Frank looked down at Foggy, still lying prone. He grinned, and nudged Foggy’s legs apart with his knee.

“What do you say, Red?” he said, not taking his eyes off Foggy.

Matt climbed over Elektra to Foggy, and took Foggy’s face between his hands, giving him a long kiss.

“Think you can take both of us?” he whispered, and Foggy’s breath caught. He didn’t know, he wasn’t sure, but it couldn’t be worse than some of the things that had already been done to him.

“I…yeah, OK,” he stammered, and Matt kissed him again.

“That’s my good boy.”

Frank held out the bottle of lube, and Matt took it, murmuring something low to Frank.

“Holy fuck,” Frank said, and Elektra laughed.

“This is going to be good,” she said.

Matt pulled the condom off Foggy, throwing it with expert aim at the wastepaper basket next to the bedside table. Then he spread Foggy’s legs and worked at him with his fingers while Frank changed his own condom, then knelt behind Matt to press kisses and some bites to Matt’s shoulders. Elektra slid over beside Foggy and pressed her mouth to his ear, licking and sucking and nipping in between whispered dirty promises about how much he’d love having Matt and Frank inside him. Her fingers trailed over his nipples, occasionally raking them with her nails. By the time Matt had four fingers inside him, Foggy was whimpering with desperation.

Then he was dragged up, Matt’s mouth waiting to welcome his as Frank and Elektra shifted around them. Matt turned him around, and he saw Frank sitting there, his cock looking as rock-hard as the rest of him. Matt gently urged him forward, and Foggy straddled Frank’s hips. He felt the tip of Frank’s cock against his hole, and Frank pushed up as he sank down, feeling full and hot and debauched. Elektra sucked on his earlobe as he started to ride Frank, then smacked his ass, making him pump faster as Frank laughed. Then he felt fingers on his hole, pushing in, stretching him even more, and he cried out, but Elektra kissed him.

“Relax, darling, it’ll feel so good,” she whispered.

He felt Matt’s cock start to push in, and tears sprang into his eyes, but Elektra held his face between her hands, kissing him. Matt was breathing in his ear, murmuring how good he was being.

He was fuller than he’d ever been, every movement inside him seemed to tug and pull, spreading him wider, opening him up and exposing him. He was pinned, impaled, helpless between Matt and Frank as they thrust into him, Elektra’s kisses softly tormenting. Then Elektra’s hand closed around his cock, and the world exploded into blinding sheets of light behind his eyes.

He didn’t actually know how he got to the shower, only vaguely aware of Matt half-carrying him there. The hot water was soothing on his skin, but stung when it ran down the cleft of his ass. He turned his face up to the spray, and Matt kissed his throat. He hadn’t noticed Matt there. He put his arms around Matt and let Matt hold him up, under the water.

He woke up in Elektra’s bed, Frank snoring on the other side. The sheets were tangled, and there were two empty spaces, one on either side of Foggy. He raised his head from the pillow, and heard the voices downstairs.

“You’ve never been good at hiding your feelings, Matthew,” Elektra was saying.

“We’ve been careful,” Matt said.

“Do you know how you light up when you hear him coming? I knew he was here when he was still in the lift.”

“The Hand -“

“Don’t be ridiculous, the Hand never beat that out of you. No matter how hard they tried.”

There was a pause.

“I’m doing this for him,” Matt said.

“You said that. But you have to realize, Fisk won’t hesitate to hurt him to get to you. He’s your weakness, and Fisk will exploit that.”

“So what do you want me to do? I hide him, that tips our hand.”

“Harden your heart,” Elektra said softly. “You won’t be able to protect him.” There was a clink of a glass on marble. “If it’s any consolation, he’s stronger than you think. Accept that Fisk will hurt him, and believe that he can take it.”

“He’s awake,” Matt said, and Foggy’s breath caught in his throat. “Foggy,” he said, a little louder.

“Yeah,” Foggy breathed. He climbed out of bed, pulling on his discarded boxers. When he came down the stairs, he saw Elektra and Matt standing at the kitchen island, Elektra in a red silk robe, Matt naked and unconcerned. There were two glasses and a bottle on the island.

“Guess there’s no point pretending I didn’t hear that?” Foggy said.

“Foggy…” Matt said, going to him.

“It’s OK,” Foggy said. “Elektra’s right. I’m your weak spot. And taking Fisk out is more important.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes. It is. Because taking Fisk out is my only chance.” He wrapped his hand around the back of Matt’s head and pressed their foreheads together. “Take the bastard down. Don’t worry about me.”

Matt kissed him, soft and passionate, but Foggy opened his eyes to look past Matt. Elektra raised her chin, looking into his eyes, and nodded. He blinked in acknowledgement, then closed his eyes again.


	10. Chapter 10

The morning of the benefit, Foggy woke up in Matt’s bed with his shoulders and hips aching. Matt was warm next to him, and he rolled onto his back and opened his eyes, seeing the cuffs still hanging from the beam above him.

Matt was nervous about the benefit; he, Foggy, and Elektra had to work the crowd and try to suss out who was personally loyal to Fisk, and who could be bought or convinced into supporting them. He’d taken it out on Foggy’s body last night, cuffing Foggy’s hands to the rope hanging above his head and splaying Foggy’s legs with a spreader bar. He’d slid ice over Foggy’s skin, whispering that after the benefit, they’d go back with Frank and Elektra to her penthouse. Then he’d slid a chilled steel toy up inside Foggy, and made Foggy choose the order in which they were going to take him. Matt’s cock had felt hot and huge inside him when Matt finally fucked him with hard, fast thrusts, murmuring about how good Foggy was.

Foggy stretched, rolling his shoulders, trying to erase the strain, and Matt threw an arm over him, kissing his chest.

“Not getting up yet,” Matt mumbled. He breathed deep, probably smelling his own scent on Foggy’s skin. There were times that Foggy wondered if he’d been indelibly marked by Matt.

“We’ve got time,” Foggy said, and, unsurprisingly, Matt’s response was to slide his hand down between Foggy’s legs and start stroking him, his eyes still closed.

“So good…my Foggy…” Matt wasn’t up to complete sentences yet, apparently. But he turned Foggy onto his stomach, and Foggy let him finger him lazily before pushing inside. Matt always got what he wanted.

Foggy left after breakfast (more like lunch), since he needed to pick up his tux, and Matt was spending the afternoon with Elektra. They couldn’t show up to the benefit together, in any case. When Foggy put on his rented tux, he stared at himself in the mirror for a long time.

He’d lost weight over the past several months; he’d known that, since his clothes were hanging loose off him, but his tux measurements were significantly smaller than his suits had been when he’d started at Landman & Zack. There were lines around his mouth, now, pulling the corners down in a frown, and the shadows under his eyes that he’d noticed before were still there. The gaze that met his in the mirror was hard, daring anyone to do their worst. 

He couldn’t hold his own gaze for long.

The benefit was at the Van Lunt building. Foggy slipped in without fanfare, lost in a crowd of tuxedo-clad men and women in evening gowns. He remembered his job, and tried to make small talk, but the early crowd didn’t seem like the important players, and he wound up being trapped in a conversation about skiing in Vermont for ten minutes before he could pry himself away. He snagged a glass of champagne off a passing tray, and felt a hand on the small of his back.

“You look great,” Matt said, his hand dropping away.

“How would you know?” Foggy shot back.

“I told him,” Elektra said, appearing on his other side, resplendent in red. She was nibbling on a canape. “You do clean up well.”

“So do you,” Foggy said. “I almost didn’t recognize you with your clothes on.”

There was a pause, and Foggy thought he’d gone too far, that he’d ruined everything, but then she laughed, and Matt laughed, and he relaxed.

“Elektra, what a pleasure to see you again,” came Wesley’s voice. He appeared out of the crowd and kissed Elektra’s cheek. Matt took a tiny step away from Foggy.

“You know I never pass up a chance to have my arse kissed, James,” Elektra said.

“Matthew, don’t you look wonderful.” That was another woman, sliding up beside Matt, who smiled and bent to let her kiss his cheek.

“I’m sure anyone would say the same to you,” he said.

The woman’s eyes glanced over Foggy and Elektra. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” she said.

“Oh, uh, Franklin Nelson,” Matt said, and Foggy offered his hand to shake, “he works with me in legal, and this is Elektra Natchios, one of my oldest friends. Vanessa Marianna,” he finished, by way of explanation, and Foggy recognized the name. Fisk’s girlfriend.

“Charmed,” Vanessa said.

“And I’ll leave you to charm Elektra out of a contribution, but I do need to borrow Franklin,” Wesley interrupted smoothly, taking Foggy by the elbow. Foggy glanced back to see Matt frowning.

“What’s going on?” Foggy said, fear gnawing at the pit of his stomach. He remembered Elektra saying that he was Matt’s weak spot.

“Just putting you to work,” Wesley said in a pleasant tone that was at odds with the cold look he gave Foggy. “Many of the high-level contributors require some…special attention.”

Foggy almost rolled his eyes. He should have expected this.

“Of course,” he said tightly. Just a few more days. He could do this.

Wesley took him through the crowd and up the stairs to a small office on the second floor. It was bare except for the furniture: no personal touches, nothing on the desk. Unused, it appeared. Wesley pushed him in and closed the door, nothing more to be said.

The first man to come in was Senator Cherryh, who smiled smugly as he sat in the desk chair and had Foggy kneel in front of him. Then Van Lunt, who still called him “sugar.” Then a few men Foggy didn’t recognize, who didn’t bother giving their names, and Foggy tried to shut his brain down, letting the blur of tuxedos and cocks pass him by. He thought instead of Matt’s plan, how Matt would never do this to him. His jaw was sore and his lips felt raw, and he told himself “only a few more days.”

Then Wesley appeared in the doorway.

“Mr Fisk is about to give his speech,” he said. “Wouldn’t want you to miss it.”

He turned and left, leaving the door open.

Foggy stumbled downstairs and grabbed a glass of champagne to wash away the taste in his mouth. Fisk’s speech was brief, but Wesley didn’t appear to send him back upstairs, so he glanced around instead. He saw Frank hovering discreetly by Fisk and Vanessa. He saw Matt, smiling at an older woman who clearly found him charming.

“You look like you could use another one of these,” he heard Elektra say. He turned, and saw her holding two glasses of champagne. He took one of them.

“Thanks.” He gulped at it, and looked up to see Elektra regarding him coolly, as if she could see inside his head. “What?”

She shrugged elegantly as she took a sip. “You’re shaking,” she said.

He looked down, and his hands were trembling.

“Just nerves,” he said.

“Yes. Of course.”

He didn’t have time to respond, because that was when the screaming started. There was a sound of a chair scraping the floor, and Foggy saw a man, one of the ones he’d just blown, collapse to the floor. Looking around, he saw several people falling, including Vanessa Marianna. Elektra stepped in front of him, putting her arm across his front, and Matt ran up to them.

“Foggy! Are you OK?” Matt demanded as he snatched the glass out of Foggy’s hand.

“Fine.” Foggy looked from Matt to Elektra, then back to Matt, who was sniffing at the glass. Elektra looked down at the glass in her hand.

“Poison?” she said quietly, and Matt nodded. He took the glass from Elektra and sniffed it as well.

“You’re both fine. Get him out of here,” he said before disappearing back into the crowd. Foggy saw him pass Wesley, who was looking at them with narrowed eyes.

Elektra grabbed Foggy’s elbow and they made a hasty exit. There was a panicked crowd by the valet parking stand, but Elektra just pulled Foggy down the sidewalk until they reached the parking lot. She calmly walked into the booth and kicked the attendant in the head, grabbing a set of keys off the wall, then striding through the lot to a silver BMW convertible.

“Is this your car?” he said.

“For now,” she said, climbing into the driver’s seat and turning the key in the ignition.

“We can’t just -“

“It probably belongs to one of those arseholes Wesley just made you suck off, so do you really care that much?”

Foggy got in the car, and she peeled out of the lot.

“What happens if we get caught?” he said as they drove uptown.

“We won’t. I’m better than that.” She smiled, all teeth. “And you forget that these are my people. They’d never dream of doing something so uncouth as pressing charges against one of their own.”

“Privileges of the one percent?”

She didn’t say anything, just smiled. “I’ll drop you off. Where do you live?”

Foggy gave her directions, and she pulled up outside his apartment. She looked up at the building as he climbed out of the car.

“Not bad,” she said.

“We can’t all live in penthouses,” Foggy said.

She smiled again. “Be careful, Franklin. Whatever happened tonight, it’s changed the game for us.”

“I know.” He looked around, breathing in the night air. “Someone made a move before we could.”

She nodded. “I’ll tell Matthew where you are.”

She drove off, leaving Foggy on the sidewalk, and he suddenly felt exhausted. He dragged himself up the stairs to his apartment, and stood under the shower for a long time. Then he pulled on a t-shirt and some pyjama pants and fell into bed.

He was awakened by his phone ringing. Wesley.

“Wha -“ he started.

“There’s a car outside your building. Get in.”

“What time is it?”

“Now, Mr Nelson,” Wesley snapped. “Or do I have to remind you what will happen if you do not comply?”

Wesley hung up without waiting for an answer, and Foggy felt claws of dread in his stomach. This wasn’t right. He called Matt as he pulled on the nearest pair of pants. It went to voicemail.

“Matt, Wesley’s here, he’s telling me to get in a car downstairs. I don’t - I don’t know if he knows anything. But in case he does - I…” He trailed off. He couldn’t ask Matt to come after him. Not after what Elektra had said.

He ended the call. There wasn’t really anything more he could say, and Wesley was waiting.

The car was exactly where Elektra had pulled up, a big black SUV, just like all of Fisk’s cars. Foggy opened the back door and saw Wesley inside. Then he heard someone behind him, and a cloth was pulled over his eyes, and he was prodded in the back when he tried to struggle.

“Get in,” said a voice with a Russian accent, and Foggy’s heart started pounding. A hand shoved him between his shoulder blades, and he crawled into the SUV by feel. The Russian climbed in after him, and he was trapped between him and Wesley, something hard and blunt pressing into his side. A gun, most likely.

“What -“ Foggy started, and he was hit across the face, hard, and he tasted blood.

“Shut up,” growled the Russian.

There was a quick rapping on glass, and the SUV started to move, and Foggy prayed Matt would do what he needed to do.


	11. Chapter 11

Foggy tried to be observant, to pick up clues of where they’d taken him. He smelled damp concrete and motor oil and gasoline, when they opened the car door, heard metal scraping and clanging before they threw him into a hard chair, felt smooth metal against the back of his head where it smacked backwards. The Russian had tied his hands behind his back with duct tape in the car, and he pressed his fingers back, feeling the cool contours behind him. A car, he guessed. They were in some sort of garage. He heard quiet sounds of human beings around him, and noted that there were several more people hovering around the edges of the scene. They were speaking a foreign language, murmuring in undertones. Russian, he assumed, given Wesley’s thug’s accent.

Then there were heavy footsteps approaching him, and a hard punch to his gut knocked the air out of him. He gasped, wheezing, doubled over, and someone grabbed his hair and dragged him upright.

“Normally,” came Wesley’s voice in the darkness, “I detest violence. I find it…distasteful. Crude, even.” Footsteps, sharp raps on the concrete floor. “Mr Fisk, on the other hand, finds it useful to have people on hand who do not share my…disinclination towards it. Matthew and Frank, for example. And Vlad and Anatoly here, you remember them?” The hand on Foggy’s hair tightened, and Foggy heard a snigger from the person holding him. He felt a finger brush across his throat. 

“Hard to forget,” Foggy spit.

There was a pause, and then Foggy was slapped across the face, hard.

“Under the circumstances, I see Mr Fisk’s point,” Wesley continued evenly. “Violence can be…cathartic, after a tragedy like tonight.” Foggy could feel Wesley’s breath on his face. “If I were you, I’d pray that Miss Marianna makes it through the night. Mr Fisk’s capacity for vengeance is almost as great as his feelings for her.”

“I had nothing to do with the benefit,” Foggy said, then his head was snapped sideways by a punch to his face.

“I don’t appreciate being lied to,” Wesley said mildly.

“It’s the truth,” Foggy panted, and he was hit again in the gut.

“I should have cut our losses as soon as Matthew took a shine to you,” Wesley mused. From the angle, he must have been crouching in front of Foggy. “It would have been so easy to get rid of you. One file to the authorities, and a few pictures posted online, and no-one would have ever listened to a word you said. You would have just…disappeared into jail and obscurity. I told you, I prefer to solve my problems without violence.” There was a pause, then Foggy was hit in the side, and he heard something sickening happen to his ribs. “Of course, I thought if Matthew just fucked you, he’d be done with you, but hindsight is twenty-twenty, isn’t it? Except for him, of course.”

“Do you have a point, or are you just monologuing?” Foggy managed to grit out, and got another hit to his face for his trouble. It wasn’t a fist, just something hard.

“The point, Franklin, is that you have proved far more trouble than you’re worth.” Foggy concentrated on where Wesley was; he had to be right in front of Foggy. He could imagine the scene, Wesley crouched with his elbows on his knees, hitching his trousers up neatly at the knee as he bent. “And now we’ve found our snake in the grass.”

Foggy kicked out. He wasn’t tied to the chair, he had full use of his legs, and Wesley was right there. He felt his foot connect with something soft, and heard Wesley grunt in pain, before hands were grabbing him, hitting him, pulling him back. There were some angry Russian words exchanged, then his head was yanked back by his hair, and something hard and metal was forced into his mouth. Distantly, through the pain, he registered that it was squared and tasted the way Frank’s fingers did. The muzzle of a gun. He felt a tooth break as it was forced further into his mouth, then it was pushed so far in that he choked, and whoever was holding it just kept pushing. He struggled against the strong arms holding him, hearing Russian-accented taunts that they knew he loved sucking whatever was shoved in his mouth.

The click as the safety came off was deafening, and Foggy stopped struggling.

He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to get out of here and kiss Matt and sleep wrapped in his arms. Matt. Matt was coming. No. He’d told Matt he could take this. Matt would do what he had to, and Foggy just had to survive until he was done.

“So the whore does have teeth after all,” Wesley said. There was snickering from the men who were holding Foggy.

“Not for long,” said one of the Russians.

Wesley chuckled. The gun was pulled out of Foggy’s mouth, and he gasped for air.

“Where is Matthew now?” Wesley said.

“I don’t know,” Foggy managed.

“Who helped you poison the benefit?”

“Nobody. I had nothing to do with it.”

Foggy was hauled up, and thrown face first onto a metal surface. The hood of a car, from the way it buckled. Hands scrabbled at his pants, pulling them down, exposing him to the air.

“I’ll give you one last chance,” Wesley said.

“And what?” It came out quieter than Foggy would have liked, but even though his entire body was raw and battered, it still had strength behind it. “You’ll rape me? What do you really think you can do that you haven’t already done?” And he realized it wasn’t bravado. It was just the truth.

A hand grabbed his hair.

“How many men are in this room?” Wesley’s voice came, soft in his ear. He waited for a response.

“I don’t know,” Foggy said, trapped in the darkness behind the blindfold.

“Good.” Wesley’s breath was hot on his ear. “Because all of them are going to have a turn on you. And you won’t know when it will end. So please, make as much noise as you want. I want Matthew to hear you.” Wesley slammed his face into the metal beneath him for good measure, so Foggy was snorting blood out of his nose.

The first man, whoever he was, pushed in roughly. Foggy felt the slight squelch of lube, not enough, just enough to not burn the cock that was shoved inside him, and he gritted his teeth against the pain.

“Where is Matthew?” Wesley said calmly.

“Enjoying the show?” Foggy snarled. “Bet you’re getting real hard right now.”

Whoever was raping Foggy laughed, and Wesley shut up, which Foggy took as an admission that he was right.

The rapist behind Foggy groaned, and Foggy realized that he hadn’t used a condom as he felt the hot semen inside him. That, more than anything, made him want to cry, collapse, break, but he thought of Matt, he thought of Elektra.

“Harden your heart,” she’d said.

“Take the bastard down,” Foggy had said. He repeated it to himself over and over as a second man started pounding into him.

Then there were gasps around him and the pounding stopped.

“Get the Rofteks!” Wesley shouted. Chaos erupted as men scattered, and Foggy was left bent over the hood of the car with his pants around his ankles and his hands tied behind his back. He tried to move, and a hand shoved his head down, and he felt something hard against the back of his head.

“Don’t move,” came the growled command.

Foggy didn’t hear it start, but he felt it, something that bypassed the ears and reached straight to the animal part of the brain. The hairs on his back stood on end, and a shiver ran down his spine, and he could feel whatever they’d activated in his skin, under it, torturing his very blood.

Matt would never be able to fight something like this.

His heart sank as he realized that Matt hadn’t heeded Elektra’s warning, Matt had instead listened to a frightened voicemail and come after him, and now Wesley was going to kill Matt.

He cried out when he heard the first gunshots, convinced that they were bullets entering Matt’s skull. But then there were more, rapid-fire, and the frightened shouting was from the Russians. He heard them trying to return fire, yelling at each other before they were cut down, then the hand holding him disappeared, and Foggy was surrounded by silence and the scent of blood and gunpowder.

The horrible sonic weapon stopped, and Foggy started breathing.

A hand pulled the blindfold off him, and he saw the yellow metal underneath him. A knife slit the tape holding his hands together, and he brought them around to push himself up, and looked into Frank Castle’s face.

“Where’s Matt?” he said, not understanding. He started to pull up his pants.

“Taking care of Fisk,” Frank said. “He sent me after you.”

Foggy stood on his own two feet and raised his chin. “Thank you.”

“Any time.” Frank glanced around, and Foggy saw that Wesley had three bright red spots on the back of his jacket, but he was still moving, trying to crawl away. A handgun entered Foggy’s field of vision, and he saw that Frank was holding it out, grip-first. “If you want,” Frank said.

Foggy took the gun. He had no idea how to use it, but he held it up between two hands, the way they did on TV. Frank reached over and pulled the safety back.

“Go ahead,” Frank said.

Foggy took two steps, so he was only a foot away from Wesley, and pulled the trigger. The back of Wesley’s head disappeared into a mess of red and grey, and Wesley collapsed, twitching once before he stopped moving forever. It should have felt cathartic. It didn’t. 

Foggy held the gun out, and Frank took it back, then bent and turned the corpse over. He reached into the jacket pocket and pulled out a phone, then nodded to Foggy.

“We gotta go,” Frank said.

Frank had one of Fisk’s black SUVs parked a block away. As they started driving, Foggy looked at his savior.

“What…” he started, but he didn’t even know what question to ask.

“Wesley tried to have some of the assholes on the security team take me out,” Frank said. “Took them down, took the car, met up with Red and Elektra. They went after Fisk, Red told me to go after you.” Frank paused, turning a corner. “It was Owsley. The benefit, I mean. Red figured it out, went after him. He’ll back us, if Red and Elektra did their part.”

They drove on in silence, because Foggy had nothing to say. Frank pulled up outside Matt’s apartment, and helped Foggy up the stairs. He had keys to Matt’s apartment, and once they were inside, Frank found clean towels to press against Foggy’s wounds, or at least the ones that were bleeding most profusely. Foggy hesitated when Frank tried to get him to lie down on the couch.

“I’ll get blood on it,” he said.

“It’s had worse than that,” Frank said, pushing him down and draping a blanket over him. Foggy hadn’t noticed how much he was shaking. Frank pulled out a bottle of bourbon, and they both drank.

“Ask you something?” Foggy said.

“Shoot.”

“Why do you call him Red?”

Frank took a swig from the bottle.

“First job we did,” he said.

“The guy who…” Foggy wasn’t sure if he should finish that sentence.

“Killed my kid, yeah,” Frank said quietly. “Red…he showed up before the job wearing his suit and this white shirt…Let’s just say, it wasn’t white when we were done.”

Foggy nodded. Somehow, the story didn’t bother him, not anymore.

It was another half hour before Matt and Elektra clattered down the stairs in a storm of blades and bloody clothes. Matt went straight to Foggy, and Foggy noted that he was still in his tux, white shirt stained red.

“Foggy! Foggy, I’m sorry, I had to -“

“I know,” Foggy croaked. “Did you get him?”

“Yeah,” Matt said. “I got him.” He pulled the blanket away and started moving his hands over Foggy’s body, not poking, but gently pressing at him, assessing the damage. “One of your ribs is broken,” he said tightly. “Two more are cracked. Frank?”

“Taken care of,” Frank said. Matt nodded.

“Call Dr West, get him here,” Matt said, and he helped Foggy up off the couch. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Foggy let Matt help him into the bathroom and strip off his bloody clothes. He could barely stand on his own, so Matt stripped naked and stepped under the water with him. It was too awkward for Matt to hold him up and clean him off at the same time, so Matt helped him sink down into the tub. The water beat down on them, and Foggy watched the blood spiral down the drain in a rusty trail. He wondered how much of it was his. He wondered how much of it was Fisk’s.

They stayed there for a while, Foggy’s head nestled against Matt’s shoulder, warm water and warm skin.

“I killed Wesley,” Foggy said.

“I thought you might,” Matt said.

There didn’t seem to be much more to say about that.

Matt’s arm tightened around Foggy’s shoulders, and Foggy realized he was crying. Matt kissed the top of his head.

“It’s over,” he whispered. “It’s over.”

Once the crying stopped, Matt helped him out of the shower and into the bedroom. Foggy was already falling asleep, bone-tired, when a knock on the door heralded the arrival of the doctor, who stitched and swabbed at him, then gave him painkillers so he could rest. Foggy didn’t remember much else.

Foggy stayed at Matt’s apartment for almost a week. Time moved differently when he took the drugs the doctor left for him. He wasn’t sure he remembered it all, either. He knew the doctor came back, checking on his progress, taking blood samples to be tested. 

Matt had to tell him more than once how that night had gone.

Matt had known Owlsley was behind the benefit poisoning. “His heartrate slowed down when people started collapsing,” Matt said. “He relaxed.” He’d gone directly to Owlsley, and they’d negotiated Owlsley’s support for Matt’s strike against Fisk.

Wesley had theorized that Matt, Frank, and Elektra had conspired with Foggy to poison the benefit. He’d ordered some of Fisk’s security team to kill Frank first, but Frank had escaped. He and Elektra had found Matt with Owlsley, which was when Matt had picked up Foggy’s voicemail. Matt had wanted to go after Foggy himself (“I swear, I did.”), but Elektra had convinced him that Wesley was expecting that, and they’d sent Frank instead.

Elektra and Matt had gone to Metro General, and cut down Fisk and his security team. Matt had paid off a doctor to declare Fisk’s death a heart attack.

“What about Vanessa?” Foggy had asked.

“She didn’t make it,” Matt had said. Foggy never asked what that meant.

Taking over from Fisk meant that Matt spent long hours away from Foggy. He’d kiss Foggy goodbye, and come back with news.

Owlsley had thrown his support behind Matt, making most of Fisk’s allies fall in line, since they followed the money.

Landman had tried to turn state’s evidence, and Matt had had two of his crooked cops beat him within an inch of his life. He was in Metro General, with a guard on him who would see that he left New York for his abrupt retirement.

Zack had promoted Marci. “I had nothing to do with that,” Matt said.

Donovan had seen the writing on the wall, and fled to Harlem. Matt had cut a deal with Cornell Stokes, who had delivered Donovan’s body, with his compliments.

Matt came home one night with blood on his shirt cuffs.

“Van Lunt got what was coming to him,” he said. Foggy didn’t smile, just nodded.

“You should come into the office tomorrow,” Matt said one night, as Foggy curled against him. “I…I need you to help me hold it together. I can’t…I can’t do it on my own.”

Matt was gone in the morning when Foggy woke up, so he made his way into the office on his own. His body ached, but he could keep himself upright, at least. He sank into his office chair with a groan, and opened up his email to see one from Matt.

“When you get in, come up to my office,” it said.

Foggy stepped out into the corridor and peered through the door, but Matt’s office was empty. He went back into his office, and was about to type a response, when his brain caught up with him.

Fisk’s old office was now Matt’s.

Foggy took the elevator up, and found Frank lounging outside the office, just as he’d been the day Foggy had arrived at Confed Global.

“He in there?” Foggy said.

“Yeah. Go right ahead,” Frank said.

Foggy pulled the door open and stepped inside.

Matt was sitting behind Fisk’s massive desk, the floor-to-ceiling view of New York behind him. The new Kingpin. He looked like he belonged there.

He smiled as Foggy closed the door.

“Hey, how are you doing?” he said.

“I’ve been better,” Foggy said. No point in lying to Matt.

“Come on, sit down.” Matt gestured at one of the chairs opposite him, and Foggy sank into it. Matt frowned as he heard Foggy sit. 

“I’m fine,” Foggy said.

“No, you’re not.” Matt’s fingers twitched on the desktop, then he pushed a small pile across to Foggy. Files and what looked like two computer hard drives.

“What’s this?”

“Tying up loose ends,” Matt said.

Foggy put the hard drives to one side and opened the first file. It was the doctored document from Landman & Zack, the one Wesley had used what seemed a lifetime ago to blackmail Foggy. Foggy looked up at Matt, who was inscrutable. The second file was the real file, the one Foggy had put together, and given to Bonnie. The third made Foggy cough in shock. It contained documents for the transfer of ownership of the buildings on an entire city block, the one Foggy’s parents lived on, to Franklin Percy Nelson, dated yesterday.

“This…” He realized that Matt may not know which file he was holding. “The buildings. I can’t - this must be worth -“

“Millions,” Matt said, putting a pen down in front of Foggy.

Foggy picked up the pen, but didn’t sign. Not yet.

“What are the hard drives?” he said instead.

“Wesley’s office computer and home computer. Frank’s friend Micro’s gone through all his online accounts and scrubbed them of any pictures. And Frank destroyed his phone that night.” And Foggy understood. Any pictures Wesley had of him would be destroyed with the hard drives.

With three files and two hard drives, Matt was offering him his freedom, and enough wealth to do whatever he wanted with it.

He looked at the Landman & Zack files.

“Ask you a question?” he said.

“Anything,” Matt said.

“Why didn’t you kill me like Bonnie?”

Matt let out a long breath. “Because you’re smart. Really smart. You cut through Owlsley’s smokescreens in just a few weeks.” He shrugged. “I didn’t think that should go to waste.”

Foggy nodded. He tapped the pen against the desk.

“What happens if I sign these and walk out that door?” he said.

“I’d ask you to stay.”

“Ask?”

“Ask.” The air was thick with whatever was between them. “Please stay, Foggy,” Matt said quietly.

Foggy signed the transfer documents. There were a lot of them. He tried to add up the property values listed on the documents, but lost track when it hit eight figures. He carefully separated the copies, and pushed Matt’s across the desk to him. Matt put a hand on them, and Foggy let his gaze travel up Matt’s arm to his face.

Wesley had trapped him with threats and fear. He hadn’t had a choice. But whatever Matt thought, Foggy knew that he had just as little choice now. He’d fallen too far into this world, he’d seen too much about the dark side of humanity, and he had blood on his hands now. There was no new life that he could build that could erase any of it.

And Matt needed him.

“I’m guessing that Wesley’s old office is free?” Foggy said.

“Yeah.”

“I’m going to need my own assistant.”

“Right.” Matt looked a little stunned.

Foggy stood up and came around the desk, looking at the view.

“You should probably redecorate, too,” he said mildly. “You want this place to be about you, not him.”

“I’ll let you take charge on that,” Matt said, turning his chair to face Foggy.

“It’s really not fair that you get this view,” Foggy said, knocking on the glass. “Do you know how spectacular it is?”

Matt stood up and stood behind Foggy, putting his arms around Foggy’s waist.

“Tell me,” he whispered.

“You can see all the way downtown. The river’s on the right, and right now, it’s so bright in the sun. And the city’s just…glowing. All laid out in front of you.” He turned his head, and Matt brushed a kiss across his lips. “And you know what? All of it - it’s gonna be ours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 26K words of porn later...
> 
> All of you who have commented here and on the kink meme - you're the best. Seriously, I fanatically check the story to see if there are any new comments, and you guys are always so nice. So, thank you, and drop a note if you haven't already!

**Author's Note:**

> Wow...my first porn. It feels like a rite of passage. Thanks to all the commenters on the kinkmeme, you guys are awesome!


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